


With Her Lionheart

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drunk Writing, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I suck at this, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, dirty talking Cullen, more smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Namalya Lavellan absolutely hates that she has been forced into the role of the Herald of Andraste. No one looks at her, let alone treats her like a person anymore. So when an Inquisition soldier mistakes her for a servant, she's more than willing to play the role as an escape from her duties.Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition, is infatuated with the Herald, duties should come first, but if he doesn't do something, he could lose his chance with Namalya.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a different version of some of this last night, told from a different perspective, but changed my mind and deleted it. It is unlikely that anyone read it, but if you did, some of the dialogue was copied from that - as it was the same scene. 
> 
> The idea came from a post about the soldiers recognizing the Inquisitor's voice, so I ran with the idea.

At that moment, Namalya wished she had paid more attention to Valora when she went on about mixing potions. The table was covered in in little bottles with tiny labels, a distiller sat at the back, and there were bowls and spoons and a mortar and pestle. She knew what everything was, but didn't know how to put anything together. The tonic she was trying to mix was one she had never actually had to make before. Valora had always done it for her while berating her. She didn't actually need it, per say. Wishful thinking, being prepared. 

She missed Valora. Missed the way her friend chastised her, always good-naturedly. The two had been a good set as friends. They had always just barely managed to keep the other one from getting into trouble. Until Valora left to join another clan, leaving Namalya alone. With no one there to keep her in check, she found herself pushing the boundaries more and more each day. She did her duties. She hunted, brought back food for the clan, encouraged potential threats to leave, quickly. 

Her clan was the most important thing to her, and with the fighting threatening their small piece of land they called home, Keeper Deshanna had insisted that Namalya go to the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and get information. She wished she could go back, decline the Keepers command, grab her bow and slink off into the forest, where she could kill anyone that threatened the clan.

“Adan,” a voice called as they knocked on the door. “Did you need anyth-” The voice cut off abruptly. “Sorry,” the woman said quietly. “I didn't mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no, you're fine, Adan isn't here at the moment,” Namalya said distractedly. “Actually,” she looked at her, realized that this was the woman Adan had mentioned, said she knew how to mix a decent potion, which was high praise from the brusque man. “Maybe you have some insight,” she whirled around and Liris, the Qunari woman was shaking her head.

“No, I'm sure if you and Adan can't figure it out, I won't be of any help, my lady.”

Namalya held a hand out to Liris, didn't miss the way her eyes fell on the mark. That was all anyone saw in her anymore. Herald of Andraste. “It's Liris, right? Adan tells me you have a knack for potions.” 

“Well,” she said, taking a reluctant step forward. Namalya caught her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her over to the table. “I've had some experience with them,” she finally relented.

“Good,” Namalya said with a grin. “I've always been terrible with potions and tonics. I was trying to remember this recipe, but it doesn't seem to be quite right.” 

Liris held the papers up close to her face, scanned over them, her brow furrowing. “Where did you find this?” She glanced up, met Namalya's pale blue eyes and Namalya saw it click in the other woman's eyes. “Oh,” she murmured. “Oh.” Liris' cheeks flamed brightly, and Namalya pressed her lips together to conceal her smile. “I think,” she said quietly, scribbled a few notes and then looked it over. “This is what you want. I could-” she pursed her lips. “That is, if you want, I could brew this for you.”

“Would you?” Namalya clasped her hands together and tucked them under her chin. “Like I said, terrible. My skills are better spent out in the woods, hunting.” 

Liris nodded and set to work, measuring out the different extracts. “Is that what you did for your clan?” Liris asked after a few minutes. “Hunt?”

Namalya leaned against the edge of the other table and smiled fondly. “I did, mostly because when I was little they couldn't keep me from sneaking off into the woods. I liked being alone, our Keeper decided it would be a good fit for me. She was right, it was.” She let out a quiet little sigh. “What I wouldn't give to just escaped into the forest again.” Just run, and run and run, and never look back. “Where were you, before you came to Haven?” 

“Oh,” Liris shook her head, silvery hair coming loose from the braid that fell down her back. “The Free Marches, Ansburg, or well, near there.” 

“Family?”

“Not anymore,” Liris carefully poured the tonic into one of the smaller bottles. “It was just my mom and me. Now it's just me.” She turned to Namalya, whose brow was furrowed. “What?”

“Why did you join the Inquisition?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I think would treat you with more disdain than they do myself.” Because those who didn't see her hand first sneered at her, assumed she was a servant. “I'm not saying I don't want you here,” Namalya said in a rush, hands flying out in front of herself. “I just mean,” she sighed. “Have people been kind? Because if not, I'll tell Josie, she'd be more than happy to ruin them for you.” 

Liris chuckled quietly. “No, that isn't necessary, but I do appreciate the offer. I had nowhere else to go. My mother had been sick for some time, most of my life really. She finally passed a short while before all this started with the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the Breach,” she finished putting the cap on the bottle and then held it out for Namalya. “Five drops under your tongue, once a day.” 

“Ma serannas!” Namalya clasped the bottle and Liris' hand between both of hers. The woman didn't look at their hands, didn't shy away from her, Liris actually looked at Namalya. She nearly wept. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, it was nothing, really.” 

“If there is anything I can do, just let me know, alright? And I meant it about telling Josie if anyone is mean,” she said the words with a slight laugh, but she meant it, then she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and tugged up the hood before slipping out the door. 

A light snow was falling and the wind was cutting, she debated her next step, she had time still. Catching sight of Solas standing near his cabin, looking up at the breach contemplatively, she grinned and headed straight for him. He was a curiosity, he'd said the same thing about her. She liked asking him about his travels in the Fade, enjoyed the glint of excitement in his eyes. 

Occasionally, he would stare at her hand, as if it held all the answers. One hand would hold hers, gently, while the other traced the lines of the mark, the lines of her palm. Fingertips brushing along her pulse point, could he feel the way her blood rushed through her veins? Namalya couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those fingers trace up her arms, over shoulders, slip into her hair- 

“Yes?” Solas' voice cut into her fantasy and she blinked, blushed, realized she'd been standing there staring beyond him for Gods knew how long. 

“Lasa ghilan,” she told him. “I need advice if you would.”

“With what da'len?” 

Child? The name coming from any other of the elvhen wouldn't have been the slap in the face that it was coming from Solas. Because for a moment she'd entertained the idea that maybe he could see her as more than just the Herald. “I'm not a child,” she said, back stiffening.

Solas smiled and Namalya had to bite back the urge to sneer. The smile was full of condescension. “By comparison, you are.”

“Ma nuvenin, my most sincere apologies,” she mock curtseyed before turning on her heel and walking away. 

“You had a question,” he called after her. 

Namalya shook her head, tugged her hood farther forward. “It wasn't important,” she called back and stomped through the snow. She'd always liked the snow, it was so peaceful. Maybe she would get a mug of hot cider from Flissa and find someplace quiet to sit outside the gates of Haven and just enjoy the quiet of the evening. She dashed to her cabin, found her thickest leather gloves, tossed a sweater on, before grabbing the heavier canvas cloak. 

Now with the idea set in her mind, she was determined to enjoy the evening and no one was going to stop her. She ducked into the tavern, keeping her hood up, her dark-blonde hair loose around her face, no one cast her a second glance, Flissa barely even did, just another paying customer. Mug in hand, Namalya headed for the door, it opened just before she got there, a tall man, a soldier she thought stood there. His gaze met hers and he smiled at her, stepping back, to allow her through the doorway first. “You look a little young-” he started but cut off when her eyes narrowed.

“I am not a child,” she hissed out the words. For a second she thought her cover was blown, the way his eyes went wide and he held his hands up in front of himself.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, then offered her a tentative smile, still staring into her eyes. “I was just kidding, it was rude, I apologize, you're short, and-” he pursed his lips. “You probably get teased about it a lot.”

“Only by humans,” she said, keeping her voice soft. It seemed to be a dead giveaway to who she was. No one knew her face, but they knew her voice. 

“I'm Elias,” he said, holding a hand out to shake.

“Leya,” Namalya said. Not a lie, she told herself. It was what the clan had often called her. He echoed her name as she reached out to shake his hand. But when he brought her hand up to press his lips against her leather covered knuckles she just stared at him. He didn't release her hand as he lifted his head, and she didn't complain, the pressure of his fingers around hers was nice. 

He glanced at the tavern, then to the mug in her left hand. “You were leaving?”

“Too loud in there, I was going to go out, maybe sit by the lake and watch the snow fall,” she bit her lip, glanced away, then met his gaze again. His eyes were gray, she thought. “Would you like to join me?” Elias' mouth opened, snapped shut, and then he grinned, turning and offering her his arm.

“Lead the way, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is me, begging for feedback. I hate doing it, it makes me feel needy. But what can I say? I'm needy. Like it? Utterly detest it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leya and Elias get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, you have no idea how much the feedback meant to me!

Together they made their way along the path to the gate. Elias shouldered it open and then held his hand out to Namalya. It had been such a long time since someone had given her attention that hadn't been out of fear, hate, or worship, she almost wasn't sure what to do with it. She slipped her hand into his, her marked hand, and he was none the wiser. Oh, if he only knew, she thought. Would he bow? Salute her? Thank the Maker or Andraste or whoever? 

“So,” she started as they walked down toward the frozen lake. “You're one of the Inquisition's soldiers? What made you join?” Namalya really was curious about what had brought people to Haven. Because if it weren't for Cassandra and Leliana holding her prisoner, she would have run the first chance she got.

“Just another Templar, lucky enough not to have been at the Conclave,” he told her. They reached the dock and Elias brushed away as much of the snow as he could before holding Namalya's hand as she sat, then he sunk down beside her. “Do you work in the kitchens, or...?” 

“Laundry,” she told him because the ones who worked in the Chantry kitchen were far more visible. But the handful of elves that worked washing the laundry for the Chantry in Haven were rarely seen. She lifted her mug up to her lips, took a sip, the hot cider was barely even warm now, but still tasted good and warmed her insides. “Why did you join the Templar Order?”

Elias shifted, pulling one leg up so he could turn to face her and he looked at her. She felt tears well up in her eyes and blinked them away quickly. She was a person to him. Just a normal person. “My parents were Templars,” he said and reached out, fingertips barely touching her cheek. His hands were cold and she realized he wasn't wearing gloves. “Strict rules about Templars and children and marriage. I grew up in the Chantry,” he told her, fingers still tracing lines on her face and after a moment she realized he was tracing her vallaslin. “Met my parents a few times, they wanted me to be a Templar, so I agreed. They were at the Temple,” he said, with a slight nod toward the breach.

“I'm so sorry,” Namalya said in a rush. “That's horrible.” Her parents still lived, a vital part of the clan, of her childhood. Her heart ached at the mere thought of them dying. 

Elias shrugged his shoulders. “Didn't really know them. These are Dalish elf markings, aren't they?” he asked, fingertip gliding over her forehead. 

Namalya's lashes fluttered shut and she hummed softly. “Yes, Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt,” she murmured, tipping her face back, enjoying the touch. Fingers fumbling, she set aside her mug, worried she might spill it.

She heard him chuckle softly and her eyes opened, she met his gaze, gray, like the clouds on the Storm Coast. “I've heard of elves leaving the cities to try and find the Dalish, but not usually the other way around.” 

“I-” she bit her lip, she'd have to tread carefully with this one. His thumb grazed up the lines of her vallaslin that bisected her lower lip. Or maybe, she could buy herself some more time to figure out how to tell her story, without lying outright. 

Namalya parted her lips under his thumb, darted her tongue out to touch the digit. Elias' eyes were locked on her mouth, his own lips parting. “Elias,” she murmured. “Would you-” she wet her lips, watched him mimic the action. “Kiss me,” she breathed. 

There was no hesitation, his hand slipped to the back of her neck, fingers catching in her hair, and his mouth was on hers. Warm and pliant and she sighed, resting her hands on his chest as he pulled her closer. His one hand held the back of her neck, while the other slide along her waist under her cloak. He groaned quietly against her mouth, then she felt his tongue against hers. 

Starved, touch-hungry, desperate for more. It took all her willpower not to throw herself at him bodily. How long had it been since someone had touched her? Solas no longer counted as he saw her as a child. Months. Well before leaving her clan for the Conclave. Namalya felt his hands go to her hips, drag her closer, and the sound she made was needy and desperate to her own ears. Straddling his thighs, she pressed close, tugging her cloak around the both of them. 

Elias broke the kiss, one hand resting on her thigh, the other lifting to push her hair back from her face. “Maker, Leya,” he mumbled, fingers gripping her thigh when she lightly bit his lower lip. Sure, it was late and dark, but there were scouts out in the woods. They couldn't keep this up, he'd have invited her back to his tent, if he didn't share it with three other men, and he imagined she had the same sort of living situation. 

With a groan of dismay he leaned back on the dock and took Leya with him, she laughed softly, full breasts pressing into his chest. She was short and curvy and, Maker, he wanted to explore every inch of her. He wondered about the face markings if she had more. Her lips were against his throat, he arched his head back, giving her more access, as his eyes fell shut. “How is it that I never saw you before tonight?” he asked, his voice a gruff rasp against the hair. 

She went still over him, then he felt her tongue lick a trail along his jawline to his ear where she nipped lightly. “I keep to myself,” she told him, voice quiet, breathy, she sounded like sex personified. Elias rolled her onto her back beneath him, the mug clattered, luke-warm cider dripping between the wooden planks, filling the air with the sweet scent of fermented apples. 

The last woman Elias had been with was a fellow Templar. A tall woman, slender and fit. A stark contrast to Leya. He pressed his forehead against hers as he slid one hand down to cup her hip, tilting her pelvis, he rocked against her, watched her eyes glaze over, lips parted and she sucked in a quick breath. “Shh,” he whispered, the last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of any of the scouts, he could just imagine the reaction of the pious Commander, and critical Seeker.

He rocked his hips against her, the hard length of him pressing against the soft spot between her thighs through their clothing. Her fingers dug into his back, one of her legs curled up over his hip as he kept the steady pace. He imagined picking her up, pinning her to a wall and sliding deep inside, the way her full breasts would sway as he drove into her. Elias' hold on her hip tightened, the angle shifted slightly and Leya let out a quiet cry. 

“Oh!” One of her hands slid down, fingers pulling. “Right-” her breath hitched. “Right there!” The breathy sound nearly did him in. Maker, if she was this hot, this receptive, and they were still fully clothed, he couldn't imagine how she'd be if he got her naked. Bent over a table, or maybe on her knees. His hips bucked harder at the thought and he watched her toss her head back, she arched beneath him, the only sound the escaped her was a breathy whimper and her thighs tightened around his hips. 

Elias didn't know the last time he'd come in his trousers, but he was pretty sure the sight of Leya coming undone beneath him had been worth it. He rocked his hips a few more times against her, felt her tremble, then licked from her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin, to her lips. “Leya,” he said with a quiet groan and she blinked up at him, looking a little dazed. “Maker, Leya, please, tell me you're not a virgin.” 

She laughed, breathlessly and shook her head as she slid one gloved hand into his hair. “Gods, no. It has just been... a very long time.” She brought her mouth up to his, kissed him, and he let out a relieved sound. “It's late,” she said quietly. “Early mornings, you know.” He climbed off her, then helped her to her feet. Her legs felt a little unsteady, but he kept his hand on her hip as she found her balance. Namalya kissed him again, slow and languid, tongue stroking his. “Tomorrow night?” she asked quietly, saw his brow furrow. “There is a cabin,” she gestured. “It's empty, the old man who lived there died at the Conclave.” 

Elias cupped the back of her head, his eyes scanned over her face, as if he were waging a silent war with himself, then he nodded and kissed her again. “We should keep this quiet,” he said.

Namalya agreed. “If we don't light a fire at the cabin, no one will know we're there. Go at night only, when it's late and people have begun to retire for the evening.” 

“I like the way you think,” he said, gave her another kiss before stepping back. Elias picked up her mug, held it out to her. “Sorry about your drink,” he offered and she grinned.

“I think what I got, in the end, was much better.”

He grinned back. “Go on ahead,” he told her with a nod toward the gates of Haven. 

Namalya turned, took a few steps, then stopped, turned back and just looked at him for a moment. “Thank you, Elias.”

His brow creased. “For what?”

She gave her shoulders a little shrug. “Just, thank you.” Then she tugged the hood back up over her head and made her way up the path. Only a few people were out and about, and none of them paid her any attention. Glancing over her shoulder as she reached her cabin, she paused seeing a pale yellow flower sitting on the window sill. It matched the color of her vallaslin almost exactly. Namalya looked around again, wondering where it had come from, then ducked inside with a furrowed brow. 

Namalya tugged off her cloak, still staring at the flower. She'd seen them growing out in the woods, but it didn't explain how it had ended up on her window sill. Grabbing one of the small flasks she used to hold healing potions, she filled it with water from the basin and carefully placed the flower in it before setting it on her desk. 

After building a small fire in the hearth she stretched out on the rug in front of it and stared up at the ceiling, a slow smile curling her lips. Elias had looked at her, seen her, treated her like she was a person, not just the Herald of Andraste. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, ran down her temple and into her hair. If he knew who she really was, she knew it would have been a different story, but maybe, just maybe, if things went well, she could tell him, eventually, and he wouldn't look at her any different than he had a few hours earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries his hardest
> 
> and smut - Not with Cullen(yet)

Cullen was fairly certain he'd begun to fall in love with Namalya Lavellan the first time he heard her laugh. The sound was caught up, carried by the wind and it was infectious. The hearty giggle made him smile, but the little snort at the end, made him chuckle and catch the attention of his second-in-command. 

“Commander?”

“What?” Cullen asked, looking up from the papers he was reviewing. 

“Something funny?” Rylen asked, glancing around, knowing there should be nothing amusing in the report.

“No,” Cullen said, heard her laughter again, had to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling. “No, of course not, here,” he signed off on the request and handed it back to the man. Then, walking through the ranks of his sparring soldiers under the guise of inspecting their stances, he spotted her. 

Namalya stood considerably shorter than Cassandra, she was clad in her lightweight armor, the snug leather leggings left little to the imagination. Her wheat-colored hair was pulled back into a braid, twisted and pinned up and off her neck, as she usually wore it. People had underestimated her, due to her stature, and her incredible ability to look utterly innocent, but Cullen had witnessed firsthand her proficiency to outmaneuver most of his own soldiers.

She fought hard and Cullen had been impressed upon their first meeting near the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Arrow after arrow nocked, drawn and loosed. At one point, a demon had blindsided her, Cullen and the others had been too far to assist, but she'd simply grabbed one of her arrows from her quiver at her hip, spun and sunk it into the creature's face, before taking a running jump over some stones where she loosed another arrow into its head, killing it.

But in that moment, when he started to fall in love with her, she was teasing Cassandra, flustering the woman, which was good to see knowing how volatile their initial meeting had been. Finally, seeming to have mercy on Cassandra, Namalya had turned, pale blue eyes locked on him and her face lit up. It caused his heart to quicken and he was stammering before she even approached him with that hint a smile curving her lips.

When she started questioning if he'd taken a vow of celibacy, he'd wanted little more than to have the earth open below him and swallow him whole, but when he'd pleaded that they discuss something else, anything else, she had giggled, and Cullen felt himself fall just a little bit more. 

Currently, she was standing with Sera and Varric, competing with each other over who was the best shot with an arrow. “It isn't the same,” Namalya exclaimed. “A crossbow isn't fair, you have sights and, I'm sorry Varric, but the skill you need to fire a bow is completely different.” 

“I'll give you that, but faster reload, and those sights, make pinpointing those moving targets a lot easier,” Varric said, aiming Bianca, firing. The bolt hit its target with so much force that it split straight through the hay bale they had placed overlooking the frozen lake. 

“But anyone can point and shoot,” Sera said.

Cullen watched Sera take up the spot they were shooting from, fire her bow. The arrow struck the target not far from Varric's. 

Then Namalya stepped up, Cullen was fascinated by her every move. She drew three arrows from the quiver on her hip and then in rapid succession, knocked and loosed one right after the other. It took a moment to realize what she'd done. One of her arrows split Sera's, the other two had landed on either side of Varric's. 

Sera huffed, indignant. “That's not- you can't-”

Namalya laughed. “Can and did.” Her eyes met his from across the way and she raised her brows. “Care to take a shot, Commander?”

Heat scorched his cheeks at being caught staring. “I, that is, uh, I'm not-”

“Come on, Commander, I've seen you wield that sword and shield, why not give something else a try?”

Varric grinned. “Yeah, come on, Curly, give something that takes a little more finesse a go.”

Cullen shook his head. “No, thank you.” The last thing he needed was to be humiliated in front of his troops and Namalya. Was that disappointment in her eyes? He was imagining things. She turned away from him, heading up the incline where the target sat. Her hair was pulled back as she typically wore it, but the corner of his mouth turned up into a hint of a smile when he saw the flower. A small yellow flower, pinned in the back of her braid.

The petals were the same soft yellow as her vallaslin, and at the time, Cullen hadn't been sure what possessed him to pick it, let alone leave it tucked on the window sill of her cabin. But now, seeing it in her hair, he was pleased he'd done it. Wanted to do it again.

Namalya collected the arrows, walked back to Varric and Sera who dispersed after a few more minutes, though Namalya stayed, shooting arrows again and again. Cullen sent the troops out for a run, then he'd let them break for a mid-day meal. Once they were gone he found himself drawn back to Namalya. Arrow after arrow. When her quiver was empty, she would walk up to the target, gather them, slide them back into the quiver, go back to the line and loose them again. 

Cullen didn't think she'd noticed him, her focus so intent, so when she spoke he nearly jumped. “Now that there are no witnesses, what do you say? Want to give it a shot?”

“I-” he started, rubbed the back of his neck. “I can't imagine I'd be very good at it. That finesse Varric mentioned, I don't believe I have any of it.” 

She loosed another arrow and laughed quietly as she finally looked at him. “Commander, I've seen you fight. You have finesse, it's just a different kind. I'd probably fall over just trying to carry that sword and shield of yours. Here,” she said, holding out the bow. 

After a seconds hesitation, Cullen took it, allowed her to guide his hands where they needed to be. “Here, just let the arrow rest here, don't hold it,” her fingers were warm and slightly calloused as she positioned the arrow. “Now draw back, keep your elbow up.” She touched his arm when it drooped. Smiled when the arrow slipped from its perch. “Like that,” Namalya said, voice encouraging. “Now, focus your aim, and release.”

Her hand had brushed against his hip as she'd drawn back from him, he fumbled the arrow, it hit the ground at his feet and he could feel the intense blush creeping up his face. “Relax,” she told him. “You're too tense, Commander.” She picked up the arrow, once again guiding his hands, this time she adjusted his stance with her hands on his hips. Namalya moved behind him, her hand touched the center of his back. “Drop your shoulders, draw back, elbow,” she touched it again. “Release.” 

The arrow went flying towards the target and much to Cullen's surprise, it actually struck the hay bail. “Nice,” she said, then gave him another arrow, giving him less guidance this time. Then another, and another. One flew over the hay bail, one struck slightly closer to the actual target, and another only flew a few feet before landing sadly in the snow. “Well,” her laughter was soft, as she took the bow from him. “Maybe with a little more practice.”

Cullen rotated his arm, reached up to rub his shoulder. “Much more practice and I think my arm will fall off.” She laughed again, and Maker, what he wouldn't give to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life. 

“Well, we can't have that, where would the Inquisition be without its Commander.” She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. During the months since this all began, she had ranged from angry, to bubbly, but lately, she had seemed quieter. Despite being witness to her teasing her companions, it was obvious she wasn't happy with her current lot in life. Namalya inclined her head and turned away from him to go gather the arrows. 

“Would you?” he asked quickly, she turned around, brow furrowing before she could ask he continued. “Teach me,” he said, gesturing to the bow. “It couldn't hurt to learn, I could teach you how to wield my sword-” she giggled and Cullen wondered if his blush would be permanent around her. “I mean-” he coughed, cleared his throat. 

“Yes,” she told him, then pressed her lips together to hold in her laughter. It didn't last more than a heartbeat. She turned, practically cackling as she walked up the hill to gather her arrows. She'd calmed slightly by the time she came back down to where he stood. “I'm assuming these lessons are private?” She glanced in the direction the troops were now coming from. 

Cullen followed her gaze, rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Yes, I think that- for now.” 

“When would you like to start, Commander?”

She was actually agreeing to it. He could use the opportunity to get to know her, to maybe help her. The Inquisition needed to come first, he mentally reminded himself, but she was a key part of the Inquisition, and he felt it was only the polite thing to do. “You're leaving for the Hinterlands soon?” 

“Yes,” Namalya said, absently playing with one of the arrows as they spoke. “Fiona's invitation,” she sighed, rubbed her forehead. Then she would have to make a decision, mages or Templars. The troops began to jog past and she caught sight of Elias, he didn't even so much as look in their direction. 

“Some of the troops will be heading out with you, just to provide aid to you, and any of the people. Do with them what you will.”

More decisions she'd have to make. “Okay, thanks,” she said.

“Our lessons can begin when you've returned, so long as you have time. I don't want to interfere with any of your other duties.” 

“The same could be said for you, Commander.” 

“Nonsense,” he said. “When you return.” Then he was walking away to join the troops. After a few moments he dismissed them and she watched them file past her, most of them acknowledged her, “Herald,” and “my lady,” even Elias. But not a single one of them raised their head to look at her. 

 

Later that evening, Namalya had taken the time to bath, wash her hair and rub a light scented oil into her skin. Then she sat at her desk, clad in the dress she'd borrowed from Flissa. The dress was tight over her chest, and far too long. But that didn't concern her. Her hand. The mark. What would she do? She couldn't very well wear her gloves if they- her breath caught. Would he? 

Reaching for the satchel that held her healing tonics and bandages she dug through it, found a roll of gauze and bit her lip, hopefully, this would work. It was too soon, there was no way Elias would just accept who she was. She wrapped the gauze around her hand, layer after layer until finally the mark was hidden, the glow concealed. Namalya tied off the bandage and then shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her heavy cloak and ducked out of her cabin.

She slipped unseen from Haven and headed for the cabin, she was there before Elias, lit a candle and set it on the small table near the window. It wouldn't be enough to draw attention she thought, but it gave the small cabin a soft glow. Namalya didn't have to wait long before the door opened and Elias ducked in. He flashed her a grin, caught her up in his arms and kissed her. “I've been thinking about you all day,” he said against her mouth. 

She smiled against his lips, moaned when he lifted her up off her feet. The dress hindered her when she tried to wrap her legs around his waist. She cursed softly, reached down, yanked at the hem dragging it up around her thighs. Elias groaned, pressed her against the first wall he came to. “Maker,” he breathed out, hand sliding up her side, along her throat, and into her hair. Namalya unfastened the buttons of his coat and pushed it off his shoulders. 

Elias caught hold of her bandaged hand and even in the dark, she saw his brow crease. “What happened to your hand?”

“Burned it,” she told him. “One of the kettles for the hot water for doing the laundry.” Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him lift her hand up, and for a second she was afraid he'd unwrap it, but instead, Elias pressed his lips to her palm with a very gentle kiss, before kissing up her arm, her shoulder, then finally her lips. 

Elias tangled his hand in her hair, fingers stroking over the nape of her neck, drawing a moan from Leya, her eyes were heavy-lidded, but she watched him as he kissed her. He pulled back to look at her, her eyes, so big and such a pale color blue, practically glowing in the dark of the room. Elves had better eyesight, didn't they? It was an odd thought to fill his mind, but as he glanced behind him, the room dark save for the lone candle burning.

“There's a bed,” she whispered and he looked back at her. He let her legs slide from around his waist, but kept his arm around her, holding her close, kissing her again. 

Finally, he drew back. “Lead the way, my lady,” he murmured. Leya took his hand and he was grateful for her because he couldn't see anything. He felt the bed against his legs, and the uncovered window allowed moonlight to seep in, giving him enough light to finally see Leya. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand between his thighs. Her hands rested on his shoulders and she ducked her head down to press her lips to his. 

Elias' hands slid around her waist, found the small buttons at the back and began to unfasten them as they kissed, he made quick work of them and it only took a few moments before the dress was pooled on the floor at her feet. He groaned quietly at the sight of her. His hands grazed up the curves of her thighs to her waist. Glancing up at her face she was watching him, her lower lip between her teeth. “Maker, you're a sight,” he said, then tugged her onto the bed and rolled her beneath him. 

“You're wearing entirely too many clothes in this situation,” she said, her fingers tugging at his shirt, dipping underneath, finding the flesh of his back. He helped her tug his shirt over his head, then he went to work on her breast band. The wrap of fabric that concealed far too much in his opinion, he tugged at it, grumbled, then Leya laughed quietly, her fingers slipping beneath his to release the hidden clasp. He threw the fabric over his shoulder and stared at her full breasts. 

He cupped one, while his lips wrapped around the nipple of the other. Leya's back arched and the sound she made went straight to his cock. She had her thighs wrapped around his waist and yeah, he definitely had too many clothes on. He switched his lips to her other breast, catching her nipple between gentle teeth. Short nails scored his back, and her thighs tightened around his waist. “Elias! Fuck!” She clung to him. “Please, please.” 

How could he deny her? He pulled back, tugged her smalls down her legs, paused for a moment to appreciate her naked body. He could see other pale lines along her thigh, up over her belly, wanted to inspect them further, but it would have to wait. He shoved his trousers down, settled between her thighs. Elias ran his fingers over her core, groaned, “you're so wet.” She moaned and then he pushed inside of her. 

Namalya's breath caught in her throat, nails dug into his back and for just a moment, the entire world disappeared. Nothing existed, except for Elias over her. His weight was braced on one arm resting beside her head, the other held her hip, in a near bruising grip, and by the Gods, she liked it. He withdrew, slowly, she whimpered at the loss. But then he drove his hips forward, hard, fast.

A cry escaped her lips and she clung tighter to him. “More!” she begged, feeling tears seep from beneath closed eyelids. She needed more. He kept the driving pace, and she could feel the edges of an orgasm approaching. She wanted it. Needed it. “Elias,” she gasped out. He glanced up, met her gaze and she cried out when he pulled out completely.

“On your knees,” he said, rearing up on to his knees, his hand lightly slapped her ass as she scrambled to do as he said. Her legs were spread wide, and he yanked her hips back and drove into her with one hard thrust. 

Namalya clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, the other hand slapping out to press against the wall to keep her in one place, otherwise, the force of his thrusts would have had her head slamming into the wall. When one of his hands slid around, fingertips finding her clit she let out a sob, arched her back and she was flying. 

He kept up the steady pace, those light touches on her clit were too much, her thighs jerked, but he held her fast. “Come for me again, Leya,” he said. “Let me come inside you.” She nodded her head, frantic. He leaned down over her, body covering hers, changing the angle just enough. She cried out, loud against her hand and felt him stiffen, thrusts stuttering. Then collapsed over her, hand still cupping her core, half-hard cock still buried inside her. 

They lay there, both breathing hard for long moments. After some time, Elias rolled off her, and Namalya shivered as the cold air hit her bare skin. “Maker, Leya, that was-” he pressed a kiss against her shoulder, and then her lips when she turned her face to his. “Good?” he asked and she nodded.

“Uh-huh,” she managed out, still trying to catch her breath. He reached up, fingers finding the dampness of her cheeks, his brow knit together and she reached up, caught his hand and pressed her lips against her knuckles. “I'm okay,” she told him. “Better than.” She laughed quietly. “That was-” she sighed, a little dreamily and her eyes fluttered shut.

Placated, Elias kissed her shoulder, let his fingers trace down her spine, found more of those pale yellow lines, curving this way and that over the back of her hip, and up her spine. But on the back of her shoulder, in black ink, was a tangle of lines he couldn't decipher. But still, he pressed a kiss to it and sighed. “It's late,” he said, wondered if his tent-mates had retired yet. Knew they would harass him about where he'd been. 

“You go first,” Leya said, and he leaned down, captured her mouth in a soft kiss. 

“I'm leaving for the Hinterlands in a few days,” he told her, standing up, dragging his pants back up. He found his shirt in the dark and tugged it over his head. Leya still lay on the bed, her hand tucked under her chin as she watched him. 

“Oh?” she asked. “The Herald is going there soon, I heard.” 

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his discarded jacket. “The Commander is sending some of us out with her.”

“You going to keep her safe?” Leya asked.

Elias shrugged into his coat and then sunk down on the edge of the bed. “If it comes to that, she's the Herald of Andraste. She's supposed to save the world. She can't do that if she ends up dead because she walked into a fight between the Templars and the mages.” He ducked his head down, brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Don't stay out here too long, you'll freeze.” He stood up, headed for the door. “Tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night,” she echoed, and he was gone, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Namalya turned her face, pressed it into the pillow, and stopped fighting the tears that had been threatening to fall. She didn't even know why she was crying. Her body ached, but pleasure still hummed in her veins.

When the cold finally began to get to her, she forced herself to sit up and drag her clothes back on. Tears still rolled down her cheeks despite her efforts to make them stop. “You're fine, what is wrong with you? Why are you crying? You weren't that desperate for sex, for attention.” But she had been. She shoved her feet into her worn leather boots, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and blew out the candle. Namalya stood there for several minutes, forehead pressed against the door, just focusing on breathing. 

Once she felt composed she silently left the little cabin and made her way back to the gates. A few people glanced her way but didn't give her a second glance. She wondered if Flissa had closed up already, glanced down the path, saw the lights were dimmed and decided it was for the best as she made her way to her cabin. 

There on the sill, was another of those yellow flowers. Her heart skipped a beat. She picked it up, laughing softly as she brought it up to her nose. Who kept leaving them on her window sill? Slipping into her cabin she put it in water like she had the one the night before. 

When she first was named Herald of Andraste, among the few things she was given, was a small leather-bound notebook for her to use as a journal, or something. She hadn't touched it once, it had sat on her desk, gathering dust. But now, her little yellow flower, wilted from having worn it in her hair earlier in the day, was carefully pressed between the pages.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Namalya had been up before the sun, dressed in her warm hunting gear and set out to hunt. Her body ached from the activities of the night before, but it was a pleasant sort of ache, one she didn't mind at all. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his hands, his lips, the weight of him. Her clan had always greeted with hugs, kisses. Touch, contact, it was so important. It was so different among humans. Until Elias, Solas had been the only person to touch her in months.

She ached for more, hollow and empty. Tonight, she thought. Tonight. She glanced toward the sun, just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, how much longer until it set? Hours still.

“My lady,” Cullen said as she made her way back toward Haven, dragging her kills behind her.

She blinked, stared and realized her mouth was hanging open. “Commander,” she finally choked out around the tongue that had suddenly gone dry. He wasn't wearing his usual armor. A thin cotton shirt, that stuck to his skin with sweat, loose trousers. His hair was not in its usual perfect swoop of soft curls, either. “You're up early,” she commented, trying not to stare, but it was nearly impossible. He was disheveled. She'd never imagined the revered Commander could be disheveled.

“As are you,” he glanced behind her, took in the two rams she'd tied together.

“A gift for Flissa,” she told him. A thank you for the dress she'd borrowed and was absolutely keeping.

“I'm sure she'll be overjoyed,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and Namalya blinked. Was the Commander joking? Another thing she hadn't thought possible.

“What were you running from?” she asked, meaning it to be a joke, but the look in his eyes told a different story. Maybe not something physical, but he'd definitely been running from something.

“Bears,” he said, and she laughed, because it was the polite thing to do, because she didn't know him, and he didn't know her, so why would he tell her anything personal?

“Ah, I've run into a few of those in the Hinterlands, Dread Wolf take them, if it weren't for Cassandra I imagine the entire Inquisition would have been devoured by them.”

The corner of his mouth curved up into a hint of a smile and then he glanced behind her. “Beautiful,” he said quietly and she turned, saw the vibrant colors of the sky as the sun crept up. It was a sight. Pale yellow seeping into the deep blue of the night sky, with every color in between. “It's the same shade as your vallaslin.”

Namalya was taken aback, she reached up, touched her cheek, where she knew the lines were and stared at the sky. The same color indeed. They continued to stand there, silent as the sun rose up over Haven. When Namalya turned, Cullen was looking at her and for some reason, she felt her cheeks warm. “I should,” she gestured to the rams. “Good day, Commander.”

“You as well,” he said and they parted, him heading for his tent, her heading for Harritt's where she could prepare the rams, she'd give him the hide and take the meat to Flissa.

Hours later, she passed her cabin, saw another flower sitting on the sill. The one from the night before was tucked behind her ear this time. Her heart skipped a beat, she scooped it up, ducked inside and set it in the flask of water. Namalya wished she knew who it was that was leaving them for her, so she could ask them why. She headed for the war room, where they discussed various notices received. “A letter from your clan arrived,” Josephine said, handing it over. Namalya snatched it up quickly, her eyes quickly scanned the words.

 

> _Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims._
> 
> _It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and_ templars _, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will._
> 
> _We await your reply,_  
>  _Keeper Deshanna Istimaethorial Lavellan_

“I have elven agents that can approach this carefully, deliver something that your clan is in need of,” Leliana offered and Namalya nodded.

“Yes, yes, please. Let me write something to send as well.” Her fingers traced over the keepers signature. She missed them all, terribly, hoped they were well. Had the rifts spread up that far? Would they be in danger? After slipping away to her cabin, where she wrote a quick letter, telling the Keeper she was fine, she was safe, and there willingly. Mostly. She delivered the letter to Leliana and was informed that her agents would leave immediately.

Much of the day was spent tending to what she could, which wasn't much. Mostly it was a waiting game. She ate dinner, then retired to her cabin, readied to head for the cabin in the woods to meet Elias. He was there before her this time and dragged her into his arms as soon as she stepped through the door. Namalya laughed against his lips, then let him haul her across the room and to the bed.

She liked that he was excited to see her, it made her feel wanted, even if it was only for sex. She kissed him back just as eagerly as he kissed her. Clothes were haphazardly tugged away, and Namalya pushed him onto his back, wrapped her fingers around his cock and sheathed him inside of her. His hands held her hips, helping her move over him, while he licked and sucked on her breasts.

Elias' breathed words of encouragement as she rode him hard and fast, her own hand falling between her legs to stroke herself. “Just like that,” he whispered as she began to tremble. Her thighs shook and his hips bucked below her, driving himself into her faster, deeper.

“Elias,” she cried out, body pulsing. He crested a few thrusts later, then pulled her down over him, pressed kisses to her lips, her cheeks. Elias traced his fingers over her back, tugged her discarded cloak over them.

“I'm sorry,” he said after a while. “That was... abrupt.”

Namalya laughed quietly, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I didn't mind.” His hands were warm on her back.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “How was your day?”

She giggled, the question so absurd given their current condition. “Laundry never ends,” she told him, heard him chuckle. “How was yours?”

“The Commander put us through our paces. Made us lap the village three times.”

Absently, she wondered if it had been the same route he'd run early that morning before the sun came up. They lay in bed for some time, talking without really talking about anything. Finally, they dressed, and slipped out of the cabin and returned to Haven.

  
All of Haven was quiet, as Cullen sat on one of the lookouts, staring out over the woods surrounding the small village. He wondered if he would ever be free from the nightmares, or if they would haunt him for the rest of his life? They were worse since he'd stopped taking the lyrium. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin his brother had given him all those years ago. A good luck token, he carried it with him everywhere, rubbed his thumb over it now to remind himself that he was fine, and everything was okay.

He heard someone on the ladder and turned, ready to tell whoever it was to leave when he spotted Namalya climbing, head ducked down, just as she crested the top of the ladder she looked up, met his gaze. “Oh,” she faltered on the ladder. “I didn't know- Sorry,” she moved to start climbing back down.

“Wait,” Cullen called after her. “My lady, you don't need to leave. Join me, if you don't mind the company.”

She stopped, seemed to consider her options, before finally climbing up the last few rungs. She walked across the platform and sat down near him, legs dangling over the edge. “Can't sleep?” he asked, she shrugged. Noticing the flower in her hand, he felt his heart skip a couple of beats. “Gift from a secret admirer?” She snorted. “A not secret-admirer then?”

Namalya was shaking her head, smiling. “I highly doubt that, Commander. Either of them. Someone keeps leaving them on my window sill.” She twirled it, brought it up to sniff.

“Same color as your vallaslin,” he commented and she frowned, brow knitting together. “Someone must have noticed, saw it, maybe the thought of you. You are the Herald after all.”

She shook her head, then shrugged. “Maybe.” They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again. “So, Commander, do you ever sleep? Up before the sun, now sitting watch?”

“The same question could be asked of you. You were out hunting before dawn, and technically I'm not sitting watch. I'm just... watching.” When she didn't reply, he tipped his head back, stared up at the stars. “Did you get your letter written to your clan?”

“I did, yes, thank you. Leliana's agents left as soon as it was done.”

“Good,” Cullen said with a nod. “I'm glad that was taken care of. Hopefully, that will assuage their concerns.” They fell into a companionable silence. A guard rotation signified the very late hour. Cullen knew he should at least attempt to sleep, though he was enjoying the moment, just sitting with Namalya. “Good night, my lady,” he finally said, pushing to his feet. “I hope you won't stay out too much longer,” he added as he headed for the ladder.

“No, I suppose I shouldn't.” She seemed reluctant, but stood and waited as Cullen descended the ladder before she followed. “Good night, Commander.”

  
The next day was more of the same. Namalya tended to what tasks she could, when the hour grew late she went out to the cabin, where Elias stripped her, kissed, fucked her. The last night for who knew how long while he was in the Hinterlands. “I'll see you when I get back, right?” he asked, mouth leaving wet kisses along her throat.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, back arching, fingers slipping into his hair. “Don't leave a hickey,” she begged, felt him smile, then he descended to lavish attention on her breasts, where he no doubt, left a hickey. “You ass,” she slapped his shoulder as they redressed and she saw the mark. At least it was in a place where no one would see.

They parted ways and she went to her cabin, found a new flower on her windowpane. She tried to lay down to sleep, but it was useless. She'd always been a creature of the night. Knowing it was pointless to even try, she pulled on her warm gear and slipped outside. Finding Cullen sitting on the platform again didn't surprise her, but the fact that she was glad to see him there did. “Commander,” she said as she settled down near him.

“Herald,” he intoned back. She made a quiet grunting sound, definitely displeased. His brows rose. “Is there a problem?”

“Don't call me that. Please. I-” she pursed her lips together. She'd tried to convince other people not to call her Herald or my lady, but no one listened to her. “I know everyone believes I'm the Herald, but that isn't my name.”

“What would you rather I called you?” Cullen asked and she looked at him, wondering if he were serious.

“By my name,” she told him. She waited for a beat when he didn't say anything. “You do know my name, right?”

He laughed quietly, looked down at his hands, then looked back at her. “My lady, Namalya,” he said and an unexpected shiver ran down her spine. “This goes both ways you know,” he continued and her brow furrowed. “Call me Cullen.”

She hadn't called him by his name once had she? “Deal,” she said. “So, tell me, Cullen,” it felt strange to address him by his name, after months of calling him Commander. “Is what sends you out running in the mornings the same thing that keeps you up at night?”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, stared out at the horizon for long moments. “Yes,” he finally said, voice quiet, rough, curt.

Namalya looked over at him, took in his profile. The moon cast him half in darkness, but she couldn't miss the shadows in his eyes. “Would you care to talk about it?” she asked, voice gentle.

“No,” was his immediate, terse reply.

Looking down at her hands in her lap she nodded. “Alright, I didn't mean to pry, Commander.”

A large, leather-clad hand covered hers, squeezed lightly. “I apologize, Namalya,” Cullen said, voice soft, weary. “It is my burden to bear.”

Cullen had told her some about his past, about being in Kirkwall when it fell, but little else. “It doesn't have to be,” she told him, then brought one hand up to point to her ear. “They are very good at listening,” she wiggled them, which caused Cullen to chuckle quietly. “Whenever you need.” His hand squeezed the one still in her lap again.

“Thank you,” he said before withdrawing his hand to his own lap. “The same goes for you, if you need an outlet, you've had a lot piled onto your shoulders, I imagine it can't be easy.”

She laughed softly, but it held little amusement. “Maybe another night,” she said quietly. “It's too pretty out to dwell.” Namalya tipped her head back and stared up at the sky.

“Pretty,” Cullen echoed, though his eyes were on Namalya, not the sky. She didn't notice and for that he was grateful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Cullen/Namalya bonding.

Since Elias had left, Namalya beat Cullen to the lookout platform. She had a mug of hot cider in her hand one hand, yellow flower in the other. Again. Another flower on her sill. She twirled it between her fingers and stared at it, as if maybe it could tell her who had left it. She heard heavy footfalls on the ladder, glanced over, saw the golden blonde hair crest over the edge, then Cullen's face. His eyes widened just a bit. He sat down beside her, a little bit closer than they had been the night before. “I would have expected you'd be sleeping, you're leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow.”

“And miss our nightly visits?” she quipped, causing Cullen to chuckle quietly.

He shifted, looking down at his hands, corner of his mouth turning up. “I must admit, I'll be bereft with you away in the Hinterlands.”

Namalya smiled, knowing he didn't mean it. “I'm sure you'll get along just fine without me. Besides, we'll be one step closer to closing the breach. I'll find out what Enchanter Fiona is offering...” She reached up and rubbed her temple. “Part of me wants to just say screw it and go ask the Templars, but after what happened in Val Royeaux, I just-” She broke off, twirled the flower between her fingers again.

“Tell me,” Cullen said, voice soft. “I may not be able to wiggle my ears, but, as I said last night, I'll listen.”

Namalya was silent for several minutes, sipping her cider, twirling the flower. “Do you have siblings?” she asked, abruptly.

“I do. A brother and two sisters,” he smiled fondly. “Do you?”

She shook her head. “Not biological, but I didn't lack for siblings in the clan. Half a dozen children my own age growing up. We used to have these snow battles, they were amazing. Sometimes the entire clan would get involved, the adults and the little ones.”

“I used to make my siblings sword fight with me as practice for becoming a Templar,” he offered and she grinned, turning her face to look at him. Imagining a much smaller version of the man beside her, wielding a wooden sword and shield. She couldn't help the giggle the escaped and clamped her hand over her mouth. She saw the blush creep up his face and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, I was just-” she giggled again. “Picturing you as a child, 'that is a shield in your hand, block with it',” she dropped her voice, mimicking him. “It's an adorable picture.” If it were possible, he turned even redder. “I'm sorry,” she said, trying to stop grinning. “I'm sorry.” But it really was a cute picture. She reached out, tucked her yellow flower behind his ear.

Cullen looked up, startled, his hand catching hers. “You're not wearing gloves, your hands must be freezing.” Namalya held up the mug with her free hand.

“Flissa, she makes the best hot cider.” She couldn't bring herself to pull her hand away. His gloves were warm and his hands dwarfed hers. After what seemed like minutes, Cullen released her hand and ducked his head. “What do you think will happen when the breach is sealed? If it even works.”

“We still must figure out who killed the Divine,” he said.

“Oh, right,” Namalya took a long sip of her cider. “I'm personally hoping that it closes all the fade rifts that have opened up all over Thedas, and then maybe I could just go home.”

Cullen looked over at her, concern written across his face. “Are things that bad for you here?” He knew that there were people who didn't believe in the Inquisition, in Namalya being the Herald of Andraste, but those were not people there at Haven, were they? “Have people been unkind?”

“Not unkind,” she said with a sigh. “But not kind, either. Did you know that people don't look at me? They look at this,” she held her hand out, the mark emanating its constant green glow. She stared at it, hated it, wished that it would just go away. Maybe, when she'd sealed the breach, it too would vanish. Then she could go back to her clan and be normal once again. She'd stop pushing limits and would be a good elvhen hunter and devote her life to her clan. Maybe she'd finally allow her parents to marry her off. The thought left a bad taste in her mind. She'd be happy to just go home.

Cullen's hand, no longer wearing his glove, covered hers, the green glow vanishing beneath his hold. He'd moved closer and she hadn't even noticed, too caught up in her own thoughts. She stared at their hands, his fingers slipping between hers. “You are more than this mark,” he said, his voice quiet and emphatic. Tears burned the backs of her eyes when he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Small scars were visible on the back of his hand. A tiny one on his knuckles, a longer one, jagged, that spanned the back of it. She traced it with the index finger of her other hand.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she whispered. “I-” she didn't know how to put what she felt into words, so she just nudged his shoulder with hers and murmured, “thank you,” again. He didn't release her hand, and she wasn't anxious to let go either. Together they just sat there as the hour grew later. “I should sleep,” she finally said, reluctant.

“Of course,” Cullen said, finally letting go of her hand. “If I do not see you before you depart in the morning, safe travels.”

  
Namalya didn't hate the Hinterlands, though it was definitely not her place to be. Especially not after their visit to Redcliffe. Discovering the Tevinter Magister had staked a claim on the mages had pissed Namalya off, discovering that he was using time travel magic only made matters worse. Dorian though, seemed helpful enough. She couldn't in good conscience, just leave the mages at the mercy of the Magister, but it didn't promise help from them in closing the breach.

They had spent weeks in the Hinterlands. She was able to secure the horses from Master Dennet, and he'd even agreed to join the Inquisition. She'd helped people wherever she could, doing anything she could. Which made her feel better about her situation. What did it matter if people only looked at her hand? They were grateful for the things she'd done. She didn't need the personal approval. Until she stood just a few feet away from the soldiers, given them an order and Elias hadn't even looked up. She'd heard his “yes, Herald,” in chorus with the other soldiers and then they were gone.

When she and her companions returned to Haven, Cullen was the first person she saw, and she had the overwhelming urge to run to him and hug him. She had missed their nights spent together more than she'd expected she would. He had smiled at her, inclined his head, and gone back to harassing the troops while she tended to her horse.

  
“How long are you going to keep that up, Curly?” Cullen looked at Varric and he knew he was caught, but that didn't stop him from trying to deny it.

“I, uh, don't know what you're-”

“The flowers, Curly.”

Cullen glanced toward Namalya's cabin. He had last seen her in the Chantry, as he left the war room, after their meeting. She had stopped to speak with Mother Giselle. On her window sill was a bundle of flowers. Several bundles. One flower for each day she'd been gone. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, then spotted her coming down the path. She saw him and Varric and gave them a little wave before turning to her cabin.

Her delighted laugh was music to his ears. She gathered the bundles, pressed her face into them before she disappeared into her cabin. “Forever,” he said, quietly.

Varric made a quiet sound. “Aw, Curly, don't make me-” he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Nope,” he said after a moment. “Not getting in the middle of that one,” then he walked away.

Cullen frowned after him, but then glanced toward Namalya's cabin, her laughter still in his ears, and decided that whatever it was, didn't matter.

That evening she sunk down beside him on the platform, one of the bundles in her hand. “Are we going to start our lessons tomorrow?” she asked.

Cullen had nearly forgotten about them, but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to spend more time with her. “Of course,” he agreed. “How were things in the Hinterlands?” he asked, wanting to know more than just the details pertaining to the Inquisition.

“I missed this,” she told him. “I didn't expect that-” she'd missed him. Missed talking to him, sitting with him in silence. She had ached more for these nights, than she had the nights spent in the cabin with Elias. But Cullen had become her friend, someone she knew would give her the absolute truth, no matter how much she may not like it. Bumping her shoulder against his. “I think I missed you.”

Cullen chuckled quietly. “You think?” he asked, amusement evident in his voice. “Well, I do know that I missed these talks. It has been a very long few weeks with you gone.” She turned her face up to his, the moon was barely a sliver in the sky, casting her face in shadow. The markings of her Vallaslin stood out though. Maker's breath, she was beautiful. “I see you have more flowers,” he touched one of the petals and she looked down.

“I wish I knew who was leaving them,” she sounded so wistful. “There is one for every day that I was gone,” this came with a quiet laugh. “I don't know why.” Namalya shook her head. “But they mean so much to me. It's something so little, so minor, insignificant really. But,” she glanced at him, ducked her head down quickly. “It's silly. I know.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head quickly, then clearing his thought. “No, it isn't. You are allowed to be happy about little things. It's important. I am sure that it means just as much to whoever is leaving them for you.”


	6. Chapter 6

They had agreed to meet up in a clearing in the woods a decent distance from Haven. Namalya had brought her bow and another one better fitted for Cullen's stature, along with a crate to store them hidden. He brought a pair of the heavy wooden practice swords and shields. Namalya was firing arrows at the snowman she had built when Cullen approached. He loved the grace with which she moved. It was a sight that would never cease to fascinate him.

She turned to him, lowering her bow. “Good afternoon, Commander,” his title slipped out of habit and he just raised his brows. “Cullen,” she corrected herself. “Are you ready for our lessons to begin? Be forewarned, I won't go easy on you simply because you are the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. I expect dedication and-” she laughed quietly. “Or not. Let me see that sword, so I can hit you with it.”

“Now, my lady,” Cullen said, holding out the sword and shield so she could take them after she'd put down her bow and quiver. “There is more to this than just hitting someone.” She swung the sword, smacking Cullen's hip with it. He grabbed it, tugged and she lost her grip.

“Now that isn't fair, you wouldn't be able to do that with a real sword,” she huffed, wrapped her hand around the grip again when he held it out for her. But he didn't let go, he was just looking at her.

“You have a new scar on your chin.” Namalya ducked her head. “What happened?”

“A run-in with some bandits in the Hinterlands.” Cullen had stepped closer, his hand cupping her jaw, tipping her face up so he could inspect it. “It's nothing, Cullen, really. It wasn't actually them who did the damage, I miscalculated a jump, slipped on a rock.”

“You need to be more careful,” he said, hand still holding her face.

She laughed quietly. “Cullen, I've been walking into battles since this all began, I've gotten my fair share of injuries.”

“Exactly, and you don't need to help them by knocking yourself out and making it easier to kill you.” There was actual concern in his eyes. The scar was something so small, between the tonics and Solas' healing hand, it was a thin, pale line, nearly invisible. Yet he had noticed it. Reaching up she caught his hand with hers. She knew that the core his concern was for the future Inquisition. “Namalya, promise me that you'll be more careful, please.”

He was so adamant, she couldn't help but nod. “I promise to be more careful.” She had already gotten an earful from her companions when it had happened. Solas lecturing her in elvhen, of course, throwing in the _'da'len_ ' which had set her temper off.

  
That evening when they met on the platform, as usual, Cullen's head was pounding. He'd pushed himself farther than he should have today. He'd run with the soldiers, trained with them, and then his session with Namalya. His body ached, shoulders sore from the bow. He was exhausted and despite this, he still climbed the ladder to meet her.

“That was more of a workout than I'd anticipated,” she said, rubbing her hand over the back of her shoulder. “How is your shoulder?”

“Aches,” he chuckled, but she frowned. He looked pale, almost ill, and despite the chuckle, it wasn't filled with the usual lightness in his tone.

“Are you alright, Cullen?” she asked, worried. Her hand reaching out to rest on his forearm.

“I'm fine,” he said, but he'd closed his eyes, she could see the wince on his face.

“Cullen, talk to me, what's wrong?”

“It's a headache, nothing more,” he told her, trying to brush it off, but she didn't believe him.

“Wait here, just a moment.” She quickly climbed down the ladder, jogged to her cabin, found the vile of peppermint oil before she hurried back to the platform. “Come here,” she said, sitting in the center of her, her legs crossed. She patted her lap. “Put your head here.”

“Namalya,” his cheeks flushed and she smiled at him.

“Cullen,” she reached out, caught his wrist. “Let me help, please.” They stared at each other for long moments before he finally, reluctantly, stretched out, resting his head in her lap. “Oh, what view you have,” she said with a quiet laugh. “I bet you can see right up my nose.”

Cullen chuckled and it was almost his normal laugh, but he was also blushing again because her breasts likely blocked most of his view of anything. “Close your eyes, Commander,” she said, pouring a few drops of the oil into her hand. She rubbed her fingers together and lightly skimmed them over his forehead, his temples, dipped down to spread it along the back of his neck before she brought her hands back up to gently massage it into his temples.

His eyes had slipped shut and he let out a quiet groan. “That,” he said softly. “Is amazing.”

She kept her touch light, working the oil into his skin, letting it work its own magic. “Care to tell me what's wrong now?” she asked, voice soft. “You don't have to, but I'd like to help if I can.”

Cullen lay there, silent for a long time, his hands laced together over his stomach while she worked. “Lyrium,” he finally said. “I stopped taking it.”

Namalya's brow furrowed. She knew that mages took it, as well as Templars, that dwarves were the only ones who could mine it, but beyond that, she didn't know much about it. “What does that mean?” she asked him.

“Templars are given their first draught when they take their vows, it is what gives us our abilities. Over time, they become addicted. It only grows worse from there, it eats away at your mind, takes your memories, sometimes it is hard to tell what is real and what is a dream.” Namalya's hands had frozen, fingers resting against his temples. He opened his eyes and saw the look of horror on her face.

“That is horrible,” she whispered. “But you stopped so-” her voice wavered. “So that won't happen to you, right?”

“Sometimes, I feel as if the withdrawal is worse. There are times when I lose focus. The headaches plague me, as well as the nightmares, Cassandra has agreed to watch me, to be sure that if I waver-” he broke off. “If I was taking it, it would be better. I would be-”

“No,” it was insistent. She held his face between her hands, leaned over, staring into his eyes. “Don't you dare. You stopped. You'll get through this. You've already gotten this far. I believe in you.” She went back to her soothing massage. “If this helps, come to me, at any time. I'm more than happy to do this if it helps. Promise me, Cullen, please?” He met her gaze and could deny her nothing.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, voice soft. He wasn't sure he would take her up on it, but he couldn't refute that it was helping. But how much of it was simply her touch and her company? Cullen felt himself drifting off to sleep, her hands soothing. “It's late,” he said, drowsily.

“It is,” she agreed, fingers still stroking. It was a long time before Cullen finally forced himself to sit up, to drag himself away from Namalya. He felt more relaxed than he had in ages. The pain in his head was still there, but much less so. Before parting Namalya had caught his hand. “I meant what I said, Cullen, find me if you're in pain, I'll do what I can.”

It took everything in Cullen not to lean down and brush his mouth against hers. It wouldn't take much, her face already tipped up toward his, her eyes, so big and blue staring up at him with sincerity. He touched her chin, the tiny scar, and ducked his head, his lips brushing against her cheek. “Thank you, Namalya,” he told her before he stepped backward and then turned away.

Namalya gaped after him, blinking rapidly. Her fingers touched her cheek where his lips had been. What? She thought, confused. He'd kissed her cheek. It shouldn't have made her heart flutter in her chest the way it had. She forced herself to turn around, walk back to her cabin, her hand still on her cheek. She swore she was still able to feel the warmth of his lips. The softness. Falling onto her bed, Namalya blindly stared up at the ceiling.

  
The soldiers returned the next day, while Namalya and Cullen were out practicing. She would have to go and see him tonight, she thought. Elias. She was conflicted. It had been so nice, having his attention, the orgasms. But him not knowing who she actually was changed it. It wasn't really her was it? She should end it, or tell him the truth, which she imagined would end it as well. Namalya also hadn't missed him as much as she thought she should have.

“I missed you,” he said, claiming her mouth the moment she was through the door. She let him lead but refused to strip out of her dress and gloves, insisting it was too cold. He hadn't objected. It was cold. Elias slipped his hand between her thighs, her dress rucked up around her hips, tugged aside her smalls and stroked her, fingers insistent, bringing her to a quick orgasm.

Then he pushed inside her, able to feel her pulsing from her previous orgasm. He kept his fingers on her clit, determined to send her over the edge again. Her back arched, her thighs clenched, the cry of his name on her lips did him in. He thrust in, held himself deep as he came. Elias stretched out beside her, breathing heavily, his hand on her bare thigh, damp and with their lust. “Maker, I missed you,” he said with a sigh. It wasn't a lie, not really. He knew that he shouldn't tell her about the girl at the tavern in Redcliffe that he might have met up with a few times in the six weeks he was away.

“Me too,” she murmured, pushing her dress down her legs as she sat up. “How were the Hinterlands?”

“Fine, we did everything the Herald wanted, some of it seemed pretty pointless, but, regardless,” he sat up behind her, his legs bracketing her thighs while he slipped his arms around her waist. He pressed kisses against the back of her neck, nuzzling her hair out of the way. “How were things here?”

“Same old,” Namalya said quietly. Pointless? She thought. What tasks had she set before them were pointless? Was Cullen already there, waiting at their platform. She couldn't go meet him, smelling of sex. She stood up, pulling out of Elias' arms.

“Leya?”

Just tell him, she thought. Pull off your glove, let him see the truth. She tugged at the glove, just a bit, then stopped. “I need to go.” Elias stood, tugging his pants up as he did, he caught her around the waist, cupped her face.

“What's wrong?” he asked, eyes searching.

“I think,” she opened her mouth, closed it. “I think I'm coming down with something, I've-” she broke off, touched her head. “I don't feel well, I'm sorry. I don't want you to catch it.” Namalya pressed her hand against his stomach, pushing him away.

“Okay,” he said, looking unsure. “You should get some rest then,” he relented.

Namalya practically fled the little cabin, head ducked down, she hurried to her cabin, stripped and used the ice cold water in the basin to scrub her skin clean. “What is wrong with me?” she hissed as she twisted her hair into a braid. Out of habit, she tucked the flower she'd found on her window into it. Bundled in her gear and cloak she went out to meet Cullen.

“You're quiet tonight,” Cullen said, looking over at Namalya. She was chewing on her thumbnail, staring off into the distance. “Is everything okay?” When she didn't respond he reached out, touched her shoulder. “Namalya.”

Finally, she looked at him. “I was just thinking, sorry.”

“About what?”

“Mages or Templars,” she told him, and he had a feeling there was more to it than that, but if she didn't want to talk, he wouldn't force the issue, as she hadn't with him and his own issues. But he had told her, trusted her. Cullen wished she felt the same way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I survived my first blizzard, so Cullen and Namalya had a snowball fight.

The snowball exploding against her shoulder surprised her. She looked around quickly, trying to figure out who had thrown it. Who would have- she spotted Cullen standing with Leliana and a smirk spread across her lips. The Commander had his back to her, but she knew exactly who had thrown the snowball. She squatted down, formed a perfect snowball, then another and another and another, until she had a nice pile. “Namalya?” Liris asked, voice cautious.

“Liris, if you don't want to be involved in an outright snowball war, I'd suggest running.” Namalya balanced two snowballs in her left hand, and stood back up, stared at the back of Cullen's head. He hadn't moved, but she saw Leliana's eyes flicker to her, then back to Cullen. She launched the snowball. Leliana danced out of the way, Cullen didn't have a chance to react. It slammed into the back of his shoulder. He whirled around and launched the snowball he'd been holding at her.

It went left and she laughed, throwing another. “This means war, Commander!”

All chaos broke loose. Snowballs were flying every which direction, people were laughing and shrieking. Namalya watched a woman, who she knew stayed at the tavern, trying to escape, fall backward from the force of the snowball that hit her. She glanced over and saw Liris smirking before she turned and walked out of the fray.

It was her own fault for not paying attention. She'd let down her guard, surprised by Liris. The snowball hit the side of her face, fell into the collar of her shirt, she screeched, but she was laughing as she retaliated against Cullen. She ran out of her stockpile and crouched down to quickly make more. Arms caught her around the waist, rolled her into the snow, she couldn't stop laughing. All she could see was white and red and gold. Finally, she lay on her back, panting, pinned into the freezing snow, with Cullen over her.

“Commander,” she said, trying for stern, but she was grinning because he was grinning. They were acting like children, but so were the rest of them. The battled raged on around them, but for a moment, it was just Namalya and Cullen, both breathing heavily. She had a handful of snow and had every intention of stuffing it down the collar of his shirt, but she couldn't. The way he was looking at her. He reached up, brushing snow from her hair, then his fingers traced the curve of her cheek, coming to rest against her chin.

His thumb brushed against the edge of her lip, Namalya couldn't breathe and it had nothing to do with his weight on her. She licked her lips, watched his eyes dart down to her mouth before he met her gaze again. “Namalya,” it was a soft whisper and she was frozen. Was Cullen going to kiss her? Cullen wanted to kiss her? No, he was going to drop snow on her face or something. Because he didn't want to actually kiss her.

She didn't get the chance to find out what was going to happen. She caught sight of feet out of the corner of her eye, and then Sera dropped a giant snowball over the top of them both. The moment broken, Cullen helped Namalya to her feet, and they brushed snow off each other as Sera ran away cackling.

 

Namalya had shed her cloak but nothing else, Elias had tugged her onto the bed and drawn her into his arms, while pressing kisses over her throat. This was the first time she'd met him in the cabin in a little over a week, though it felt like months. She'd feigned illness, then she'd traveled back to the Hinterlands to confront Gereon Alexius, had been sent forward in time, an utterly terrifying experience that still plagued her dreams. Namalya had returned to Haven the day before, but been too exhausted to make the trek to the cabin, to face Elias. She'd sat on the platform with Cullen, fallen asleep on his shoulder, then argued with him when he'd told her to go to bed.

“Did you hear about the snowball fight in front of the Chantry?”

“Oh?” Namalya turned her face, met his gaze.

“I think there is something between the Herald and the Commander.”

Namalya blinked in surprise. “What?” She thought of that moment earlier, pinned beneath him. His cheeks were pink and he was grinning, with snowflakes in his hair and she had held the handful of snow that she just couldn't bring herself to stuff down the collar of his shirt.

“They started it, I think half the people of the Inquisition joined in.”

Namalya felt herself smiling a little. She'd heard the laughter, the gleeful shrieks and it had brought her so much joy. “Did you join in?”

“I might have lobbed a snowball or two,” he told her, teeth gently closing on her earlobe. She sighed, closed her eyes and her mind unexpectedly filled with Cullen. His fingers gentle on the side of her face, warm leather on her wind-chilled skin. “I never would have imagined the Commander could do something other than yell at people. As for the Herald, doesn't she have more important things to be doing?”

Namalya was taken aback. She blinked, her fingers catching in Elias' hair, tugging his face away from her throat. “What?”

“There are rifts that are still spitting out demons. The breach is still a giant tear in the sky and she was flirting with the Commander. I've heard that they go off into the woods every day, spend nights sitting up on one of the lookout platforms.”

For a moment she wondered if he'd figured it out, that she was the Herald. Was it jealousy that had him complaining? But no, he didn't know and he meant every word. “She's still a person,” Namalya said, voice soft. The words hurt, but maybe he was right. “Doesn't she deserve a moment's respite?”

“She's supposedly the only person who can save the world. There are more important things for her to be doing.”

Namalya shoved Elias off her and stood, hands on her hips. She stared down at him, rage and guilt warring inside of her. “So she can't have even just a moment of joy? Is she supposed to devote every single second of her life to duty? What about you? You're a soldier for the Inquisition, which is the force behind her.”

“It's different,” Elias said, pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached for her but she stepped out of his reach. “This is because she's Dalish like you, isn't it?”

Namalya opened her mouth, snapped it shut. “I...” she reached up and rubbed her forehead. “I need to go.”

“Leya,” he reached for her again as she grabbed her cloak.

“No,” she bit out. “I have things to do.” She stormed out of the cabin, tears burning the backs of her eyes. How dare he! She hadn't asked for any of this. She'd literally been taken prisoner and then wasn't given much choice in the matter after that. She was Andraste's Chosen and they expected her to just forsake her own beliefs and go with it?

There wasn't a flower on her window sill and Namalya was surprised by the tightness in her chest. Because of the snowball fight? Because she wasn't doing enough as the Herald? She slammed the door to her cabin, ripped off the cloak and then the dress. Namalya knew the nightly trysts with Elias weren't going anywhere. It was just to pass the time, to make war a little more bearable. She needed to just tell him the truth, to end it. She stripped out of the dress, kicked it under the bed and dressed in her usual gear. Would Cullen be there tonight? She wondered. Or was it time to give up the quiet nights with him as well?

A tear escaped and she dashed it away quickly. She hadn't expected to gain his friendship, his trust. Namalya was certain she'd be lost without it now. Bundling up, she went to their usual spot, sat down and waited. After over an hour had passed she knew he wasn't coming. She rubbed her sternum and realized she hadn't felt so alone since the beginning.

Maybe, just maybe, once the mages had come, and the breach was sealed, she really could leave. They wouldn't need her, maybe all the little rifts that had opened over Thedas would just close and she could go back home to her clan. Maybe she could go visit Valora. She climbed down the ladder, resigned to trying to sleep. Head down, she kicked at the snow as she walked, tried to think about the laughter of the snowball fight earlier. The smile on Cullen's face.

“Namalya,” Cullen's voice interrupted her thoughts and she jerked her head up, a quiet sound of surprise escaping her lips. He stood directly in front of her. “You're going to bed already?” he asked. “I know I'm a little late-”

“I didn't think you were coming,” she admitted, drawing her coat tighter around her.

Cullen shifted, rubbed the back of his neck, then he really looked at her. Had she been crying? Maker's breath, what had happened? “What's wrong?” he asked her, reaching out to her without thinking, one hand rested on her shoulder, the other cupped her chin. “You're upset,” he said, frowning. “Because I was late?” No, that was ridiculous and he shook his head. “Tell me what's wrong, Namalya, please.”

She just stood there for several long moments, staring up at him, her big eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. Then she stepped back, breaking away from him and crossed back to the ladder. Without a word she climbed it and sat down, Cullen followed. He sat down beside her, their arms just barely grazing. “Talk to me, Namalya,” he wasn't above begging.

“Am I doing enough?” her voice broke and it was a kick in the chest to hear her so upset. Even when she'd spoken of how much she missed her clan, she hadn't sounded so … broken.

“What do you mean?” he asked, not understanding.

Her hands twisted in her lap, thumb rubbing against the palm of her left hand. “I mean for the Inquisition, as the Herald. Should I be doing more?”

“What more do you think you could do?” he asked, still confused. How could she possibly do more? And what had made her think she wasn't doing enough?

“I don't know, that is why I'm asking. I-” she broke off.

“We're waiting for the Mages, then we'll go to the Breach, attempt to seal it. There isn't much you _can_ do at the moment. What brought this on?”

“I'm sleeping with one of the Inquisition soldiers,” the words came out in a rush. “He doesn't know that it's me. I mean, he thinks I'm just some elven servant.”

“Is he blind?” Cullen asked and the sound Namalya made was more of a sob than laugh.

“I told you, no one looks at me, Cullen. I have stood directly in front of him, spoken to him, as the Herald, and he never looked up. This,” she said holding out her left hand. “This is what they look at. We argued, he said that the Herald wasn't doing enough. The snowball fight this afternoon a prime example of the Herald's failures apparently. Of _my_ failures.”

“People need to be able to remember what we're fighting for. Everyone needs a break now and then. You included.” Then, after a beat. “Which soldier?”

“Why do you want to know?” she quipped. “It doesn't matter, Cullen.”

But it did matter to him. Who was it and how long had it been going on? He had thought it was their time together that was cheering her up or at least had hoped, but apparently, he was wrong? It was a revelation to him, he had been so caught up in his own feelings for her. Cullen thought of the kiss he'd brushed over her cheek weeks ago, the light touches, tackling her into the snow today, if it hadn't been for Sera, he would have kissed her and she already had someone in her life to do that.

Rubbing his hand over his mouth he let his eyes fall shut for a moment. Not once had she made any sort of sign that she was interested in him. She'd needed a friend and that was all. He couldn't punish her for his blindness, for his unrequited emotions. “You've done more than enough for the Inquisition. Without argument, you've been thrown into battles, forced to make decisions that affect the whole of Thedas, when all you have wanted was to go back home to your clan. Whoever he is, he had no right to say that, regardless of his knowledge of who you may or may not be.”

  
The next day Cullen didn't meet her out for their practice session, she didn't go to the cabin to meet Elias, there was no flower on her window sill and Cullen never came to the platform. Was he ill? She wondered, but no, she'd seen him out with the soldiers. Namalya couldn't help but wonder if it was because she'd told him that she was sleeping with one of the soldiers. Had that fact destroyed their friendship? Did he think so little of her now? She retired to her cabin but didn't sleep.

She'd tell Elias tomorrow. The mages were set to arrive in the morning, so they would go out, close the breach, then she'd come back, tell Elias the truth, and Elgar'nan willing, she could go home.

 

The breach was massive and terrifying. Namalya stared up at it, heart pounding. This was _it_. She could hear Solas behind her, telling the mages to _focus their energy_. Cassandra stood not far away, as did several others, including Cullen. She looked down at her hand, the mark of Andraste. She sent up a quiet prayer to the Creators, her Gods, to help her, guide her.

Then she drew in a deep breath and lifted her hand. She focused as hard as she could, putting forth every bit of energy she had into making it work, into closing the breach. She could feel the tremors in her legs. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. _This was going to kill her_ , the thought was fleeting. Nothing she wanted to do when this was done would matter because she was about to die. She felt the surge of power from behind her and it took her breath away. A whimper escaped, but she didn't let up. _Close. Just close._

Her legs gave out, she slammed into the hard ground on her knees, hand still raised, still pouring herself into the massive rift. Then, just when she thought she'd failed, because she knew she couldn't keep it up, there was an explosion of blinding light in the sky. Namalya collapsed forward, barely managed to catch herself with her hands, but her arms were shaking. Her entire body was shaking.

A hand touched her back, gentle, warm, big. “Namalya,” Cullen's voice, so full of concern. “Drink this,” he said, urging her upright enough to press the bottle to her lips. She had no strength left and simply sagged against him. The liquid hit her tongue, overly sweet, slightly bubbly. Familiar. Flissa's cider and something else.

“What is-” she could barely form the words. Her tongue felt heavy.

“Something Adan said you were to drink immediately after closing the breach.” He held her up, supported her weight and pressed the bottle to her lips again. She didn't object, though swallowing was hard and at one point she couldn't, she sputtered, coughing. Cullen pulled the bottle away and she felt him wipe her chin with a soft cloth, then under her eyes.

She couldn't see anything. It took several seconds for her to realize she'd closed them. “Namalya,” his voice was soft and she blinked up at him. “Are you hurt? Tell me what's wrong? Why are you crying?” Was she crying? She had no idea.

“I'm not-” she said, but then her voice broke in a sob. “I don't know.”

“Slower this time,” he said, lifting the bottle to her lips again. She sipped, felt strength slowly beginning to ebb back into her muscles. But still, she leaned into Cullen. A pillar of strength.

“You never came yesterday,” she said softly. His body went still against hers. He pressed the bottle to her lips again, she could see it was almost empty, knew it was helping, so she didn't object.

“I'm sorry,” Cullen said quietly. “That was unfair of me. After what you had told me-”

“You didn't want to be around someone who had lied to someone she was having sex with?”

“What? No, Maker,” he tucked away the bottle when she'd finished it. “Can you stand?” he asked. She shrugged, unsure if her legs would support her weight. Cullen stood, then pulled Namalya up, she wobbled, but her legs held her. “You need to rest, probably need more of whatever it was that Adan made.”

Namalya snorted quietly. “Any more of that and I'll be drunk,” she told him. He raised a brow at her. “It was probably more than half booze, I'm not going to complain,” she said, took a step and faltered. Cullen caught her, swept her up into his arms. “Whoa,” she said, her head hanging backward. “Why is everything... upside down?” Namalya lifted her head, blinked, then laughed quietly. “You're strong.”

Solas informed them that the Heavens were scarred, but the breach was sealed. He looked over Namalya, pronounced her exhausted and slightly drunk, but nothing a good nights sleep shouldn't solve. He had offered to take her, but Cullen hadn't been willing to release her into the other man's arms. He carried her back to Haven, then to her cabin. He laid her on her bed and tugged off her boots.

Cullen turned to go but stopped when he saw the flowers on her desk. All the little yellow flowers he'd picked for her, left on her window were there on the desk. The bouquets hung upside down, drying, some of the flowers were pressed between the pages of an open journal. He was stunned. When she'd said they meant something to her, he had thought she had meant she liked the gift, the little acknowledgment. But the fact that she'd kept them all, preserved them, they must have meant far more to her than he'd realized.

“Cullen,” her voice was a little slurred, he turned to face her, she'd rolled onto her side, was looking at him. “Do you hate me?” she asked, voice wavering.

“Why would I hate you, Namalya?” He walked back to the bed, sunk down on the edge of it and Maker knew he shouldn't, but he reached out, pushed the hair that had escaped from her braid off her face.

“Why didn't you come?”

He couldn't tell her the real reason, wouldn't tell her that he had feelings for her and that he'd needed to take a step back. But he didn't want to lie to her either. “I am sorry,” he told her, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, told himself that was the last. He couldn't touch her anymore. “I never imagined that my absence would bother you.” Her fingers had curled into the side of his shirt.

“You're my best friend, Cullen, of course, it does.”

Cullen's eyes slipped shut. He could accept that, _would_ accept that. “Can you forgive me?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Don't ever do it again,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering.

“Never,” he said and felt the tension drain out of her. Her fingers released his shirt and her hand fell on to the bed. He stayed there for several heartbeats, then he forced himself to pull away. He lifted the blanket folded at the foot of her bed and draped it over her, then silently slipped from her cabin.

Cullen raked his hand through his hair and a part of him hoped that he never found out who she was sleeping with. But he imagined the rest of the troops would appreciate it if he did. He'd pushed them all hard the day before. Harder than he usually did and was unremorseful about it. Someone had hurt her, made her doubt herself. Then he had turned around and done the same thing himself.

  
Namalya didn't know how much time had passed when she finally woke. The sounds of celebration hit her ears, but her cabin was dark. She pushed herself up to sit, dragged on her boots and though she still felt a little unsteady, she wrapped herself in her cloak and pushed open the door. People were dancing around the bonfire and she was fairly certain Adan was drunk.

She made her way over to Cassandra and watched the people. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“Several hours of celebration already,” Cassandra told her. “How are you feeling?”

“A little woozy, but I'm fine. The breach?”

“Sealed.”

Tears stung her eyes. It had worked. She looked down at her hand, the mark still there. So much for that hope. “Good.”

“You know that this isn't over yet,” she said. “We do still need to figure out who killed the Divine-”

“Lighten up, Cassandra,” Namalya said with a sigh. “Have a drink, go dance with Iron Bull.” She knew it wasn't over. She wasn't that lucky. Namalya walked away. She shoved through the gates of Haven, saw the soldiers celebrating as well. Spotted Elias. She tugged at her hair, it had mostly fallen free from the braid. Her hand hidden in the folds of her coat. “Elias,” she said quietly as she walked past him, then continued to the cabin. He followed.

“So,” she said when the door closed. “Do you think I've done enough now?”

His brow was furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

She dropped the cloak, the mark casting a green glow over the entire cabin. His eyes fell on her hand, flicked to her face but immediately went back to her hand.

“I don't-” he shook his head. “No, you're-”

“Namalya. Herald of Andraste, apparently.” He didn't respond, just kept staring at her hand, mouth agape. Tears stung her eyes. She moved her hand and his eyes followed.

“You lied to me,” his voice was a rasp.

“Lied?”

“You said you were a servant, and you- What was it? Some sick joke?”

She opened her mouth and snapped it shut. “You were one of the first people to look at me, to actually _look_ at me since I had come to Haven. So I hid my hand, I lied about who I really was because, for the first time in months, someone treated me like a person, and not this almighty being that was supposed to save the world.”

The corner of his lip curled up. “The so-called Herald of Andraste is a liar and a fake.”

“I have never said I was the Herald of anything!” His eyes were still locked on her hand. “Would you just look at me!” her voice broke as she yelled.

“No,” Elias took a step back, then turned and walked out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

Namalya walked over to the bed, sunk down on the edge of it and pressed her face into her hands. She had made a mess of everything, hadn't she? Her body was sore and her head ached. Letting herself tumbled sideways on the bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes.

Distant clanging bells had Namalya jerking awake. She sat up, disoriented. It took several moments for her to realize she was in the cabin outside of Haven. What were those bells? More sounds of the celebration? She yanked open the door and her heart stopped. Templars. Red Templars. They were everywhere. Marching on Haven.

That was what the bells were for.

Haven was under attack.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions of blood, some violence, and I suppose technically some self-harm?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with all of this chapter, only certain aspects. But I can't stare at it anymore. So, sorry if it's crap.

Haven was under attack. Templars infected with red lyrium were everywhere. Already he'd seen several of the townspeople, dead in the snow. With the force marching on Haven, he knew more would die and he couldn't find Namalya anywhere. He'd gone to her quarters but she wasn't there, and Cassandra had informed him that she'd left over an hour earlier. The heavy gates were closed and with the dragon hovering overhead, they were retreating to the Chantry.

A dragon. Maker's breath.

And Namalya was gone. Had she been hurt? It had only been a few hours since she had closed the breach, she still had to be exhausted.

“Let us in!” a voice cried from the other side of the gates.

“Namalya?” he called. She was outside. “Get these gates open, now!” He roared, shoving them open. She was there, bleeding and barely standing, her arm around the shoulders of a pale-haired boy. “You're hurt. Maker's breath, how bad is it?” He picked her up, arm under her knees, the other around her back. “Where were you? What happened?”

“It's fine,” she told him, but he saw the blood. It soaked through her thin leather armor, down her side. He carried her to the Chantry, grabbed a healing tonic and pressed it to her lips, then Solas was at her side as well, doing what he could to heal the wound. “Did Elias make it back?” Namalya asked, tipping her head back to look up at him.

“Elias?” his brow furrowed. He knew the name, but couldn't think of who-

“The soldier, he -” she broke off.

Cullen's jaw clenched tight. Elias. He was the one she'd been sneaking off to see. The one who had made her think she wasn't doing enough. He'd left her? “I don't know,” he ground out. “I haven't seen him.”

“The Elder One comes for you,” Cole interrupted.

Namalya looked up, startled. “Me?”

“The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

Her eyes slipped shut and he felt her lean into him for a moment before she brushed off Solas' hands and pushed to her feet. “Give me a plan, Commander,” she said, looking up at him.

Cullen opened his mouth, then closed it. “There is no escaping this,” he said, regretfully. “That dragon-” he sighed. “The only choice we have is to bring the mountain down on Haven.”

“That will kill us all,” Namalya's voice cracked. “No, we can't-”

“She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you,” Roderick spoke and they looked at him. “There is a tunnel,” he explained.

“Get them to safety, Cullen.” She pressed her hand to her side, grabbed another of the healing potions and tossed it back, with a wince. “Where is my bow?” she asked and said a quick thank you to Leliana when she appeared with it and her quiver.

“Get to the trebuchet,” it was the hardest thing for him to say. To tell her to go out there, put her life on the line. “Fight like hell,” he said. “Bring the mountain down on Haven.” He watched her strap the quiver on her hip, adjust it and then stand straight. Cullen could tell she was still in pain and he wanted nothing more than to go out there, fight beside her, make sure she made it out safely.

“Go,” she told him, nodding toward the passage. “Keep them safe. Send up a flare when you're far enough away. I'll keep the thing distracted.”

Cullen caught her hand, squeezed it. “You keep yourself safe, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir, Commander, sir,” she said, but from the look in her eyes, she didn't expect to make it out alive.

“I mean it, Namalya.” He gripped her chin, thumb tracing the tiny scar. “You aren't escaping the Inquisition that easily,” he said and she smiled a little.

She reached up and curled her fingers around his wrist, slender fingers, squeezing. “I'll do my best, Cullen,” she promised, and then she took a step back and turned away and walked out the door.

Staring after her, he was terrified that it would be the last time he ever saw her. _Maker, watch over her._ He sent up the silent prayer before ushering everyone though the passageway that Roderick had said would guide them to safety. Cullen continued to remind himself that she was strong. She was skilled and she could handle herself. But the injury to her side. She'd been stabbed, the healing potion could only do so much and he knew that Solas couldn't have fully healed her.

An injury like that would slow her down, hinder her, and she was going up against a dragon, alone. Running his hand over his face, his heart stuttered in his chest. She would be fine, he told himself again. There was no way something like a dragon would slow Namalya down.

 

Namalya stumbled, the snow up to her knees. Each step was an immense effort. Step, stumble, try to get up, crawl, step, stumble. If anything wanted to follow her, they'd have no trouble, between her tracks in the snow and the trail of blood she was leaving behind. She looked down at her side, it ached, and she was afraid to pull her hand away from it now, afraid her insides might just spill right out of her.

Her left hand was another matter. The mark. The fucking mark. The Anchor, as the behemoth creature had called it. _I never wanted it!_ She'd screamed at him, he'd tried to take it back, but it hadn't worked, so his only other solution was to kill her. Namalya still wasn't quite sure how she'd survived, how she'd escaped, but she had. She looked at her left hand, blood dripped from her fingers. The deep slashes on her palm opened and bled every time she moved her hand, each time she tumbled into the snow.

She had to find them. Somehow. She had to find them. But she had no idea where they were, how far they might have gotten, how much time had passed. Remnants of a cold fire, long burned out. How much longer could she keep going?

But she'd promised Cullen.

She had fought like hell.

How embarrassing would it be to freeze to death after having survived against that _thing_?

Another fire, this one not as old, she pressed her hand into it, surprised by the warmth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Closer. Maybe? “Creators,” she breathed, taking another stumbling step. “Please.”

The hill was nearly impossible to climb. But was that light she saw? Maybe fires? She stumbled forward again, they were so far away. Namalya knew there was no way she could possibly make it that far. Sinking down to her knees she stared, tried to work up the strength to keep going, but she couldn't.

Distantly she heard a voice. “It's the Herald!”

Then she opened her eyes and was greeted with the most beautiful sight. Cullen was on his knees in front of her. Warmth surrounded her as he draped his cloak over her shoulders. “Namalya,” he said, voice hoarse. “How badly are you hurt?”

She slid her arms around his shoulders, sunk into him. He was fire, warmth and she clung to him. “I think I tore open that wound on my side,” she told him, mumbling, her face pressed into his throat. She could feel the stubble against her lips, coarse and she pressed her face closer. Pressure at her back, her legs, he was carrying her. “You're strong,” she mumbled.

“I've got you,” he told her, and she felt his lips against her temple. “You did it. I can't believe you-” his words broke off and she felt his arms tighten, just a little bit. “I've got you,” he murmured again.

Namalya thought she might have drifted off at some point, because the next thing she knew were voices all around her, talking, yelling. “Leya!” she heard a voice yell. “Leya!” Her head lolled to the side and she saw Elias, looking a little bruised, a little battered, but no worse for wear.

“Haven't you done enough already?” Cullen snarled and she pressed her face back against his throat.

“Cullen,” it was a soft murmur. “Let it go,” she told him.

“He left you,” he bit out.

“Not his fault,” she retorted. “I'm pretty sure he didn't know about the attack, I can take care of myself.”

Then he was barking orders at other people and she smiled, eyes closing. “Ma' vheraan vhenan,” she murmured, then whimpered when he let go of her, laying her down on a cot. “Liris,” she smiled, then her brow knit together. Liris had a bandage on her face, the covered most of her face, and it was stained red with blood. “You're hurt,” she said, trying to sit up, but hands pushed her back down.

“It's fine,” Liris said. “Lay down, I need Solas for this!” she yelled, and Namalya gasped in pain when she felt pressure against her side.

Then Solas was there on her other side, murmuring quiet reassuring words, but whether they were to her or Liris, Namalya wasn't sure. But Cullen was there, crouched next to her head, one hand cupping her cheek. She reached up, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and let her eyes slip shut. She was safe.

“I will finish, go, see to the others,” Solas said and Namalya blinked a few times, Cullen was watching Solas work intently. They helped her sit up so that Solas could wrap the bandage around her waist. Then, Solas took her left hand in his and looked at it, he shot her a look and she turned her face away. “What happened, da'len?”

“Don't call me that,” she gritted out, yanking her hand away from him. Cullen was still there, just behind her, his hand a steady pressure on her back.

“Ahn garem?” _What happened?_ Solas asked, catching her hand with his again. He poured alcohol on it and she cried out, jerking her hand again, but he had a hold of her wrist and wouldn't let go.

“Ar tel'nuvena ra!” _I didn't want it!_ she yelled.

“Hey,” Cullen interjected, his hand curling around Solas' on her wrist. “That is enough.” There was a dangerous tone in his voice.

There was a tense silence. “I did it,” she said quietly. “The Elder One, Corypheus, he tried to take it back, it didn't work.” Solas withdrew his hand, Cullen's remained. “So I tried to carve it out. That didn't work either.” She felt Cullen's forehead press against the back of her shoulder, while Solas went back to tending the wound, applying the salve, bandaging it, she told them everything that had happened. What Corypheus had told her and then, in her dazed, seemingly hopeless wandering, she'd tried to cut the anchor out of her palm.

The pain had been excruciating, but she didn't mention that. She was fairly certain she'd knocked herself unconscious when she'd done it, the pain so intense. When Solas was done, he stood up and walked away without a word. Cullen released her arm and lifted his head. He wasn't touching her, but she knew he was there. “You're disappointed in me, aren't you?” she asked in a whisper. “I'm sorry, I know I-” she looked down at her bandaged hand. “I'll do better.” There was no excuse.

“You should rest,” Cullen said, voice weary.

Namalya laid down on the cot, Cullen spread his cloak over her and she looked up at him. He looked tired. She caught hold of his hand. “Cullen, please, I'm sorry-”

“Don't,” he said softly, crouching beside the cot again. He stroked his thumb along her jaw. “You don't need to apologize.”

“But there is still so much to do, and I,” she held up her bandaged hand that Cullen caught. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“And you won't have to do it alone. But please, just rest.”

 

Hours later, Cullen found Namalya, not looking particularly rested, but she was on her feet. His eyes drifted over her bandaged hand, then to her side, she was still dressed in her blood-soaked gear, his cloak wrapped around her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, cautiously. She gave him a tentative smile, then rolled her eyes. She'd been fussed over. “Did you speak with Elias?” he asked, watching her face.

Namalya tilted her head, a questioning look on her face. “Not since before,” she told him. “Why?”

Cullen rubbed his hand over his mouth, unsure how to broach the subject. He almost regretted opening his mouth. He should have left it, but now, he was going to be the one who had to tell her. “He-” he broke off.

“Stop clenching your jaw, Commander,” she told him, her hand coming up, fingers light against his jaw. He hadn't even realized he was doing it.

He sighed inwardly, sent up a silent prayer before speaking. “He left,” he told her, voice quiet, steady.

She blinked at him, several times, nose crinkling, mouth twisting. “Let me see your hands,” she said and without hesitation, he held his hands out to her. She took them in hers, staring down at them. Cullen watched her as she tugged off first one glove, then the other, tucking them under her arm, before she held his hands in hers again, thumbs tracing over the backs of his knuckles.

Realization dawned. “You think I would hit him?” She murmured something quietly under her breath that he didn't hear before she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I didn't,” he told her, though, he'd wanted to. The man had slunk off like a thief in the night.

“I can see that, clearly,” she said, rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles again. He tried to ignore how much he was enjoying the feel of her hands in his. “Solas says there is a place to the north, that we might be able to make use of.”

“Then we go north,” Cullen said, squeezing her hands.

They stood like that for several minutes, before she heaved out a breath. “Do you promise you're not angry with me about,” she glanced at her left hand.

Unable to help himself, Cullen tugged her in, against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, she didn't resist, her arms curling around his waist, her face pressing into his chest. “I promise,” he told her softly. “No one else knows, besides Solas, it will stay that way, so long as you want.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, I didn't mean for Solas to be a dick... but it just happened.


	9. Chapter 9

They had been at Skyhold for just over a week, Namalya couldn't deny how amazing it was. The place was a fortress, defensible, and there was so much they still could do with the space. She was standing in the courtyard, contemplating. The gardens needed to be bigger, and the current space they were using as an infirmary needed to be better. More well-equipped. 

Glancing up as a figure came to stand beside her, Namalya's brow furrowed. “Liris?” she asked quietly. The woman was dressed in a heavy cloak and had a small bag over her shoulder. Her face was still bandaged and Namalya wondered how bad the injury had been. She'd been attacked by one of the behemoths, red lyrium claws had slashed her face, possibly taking her eye. “Going somewhere?”

“I'm leaving,” she told her, voice quiet. “An actual surgeon arrived yesterday, she can help people-”

“Hey, did someone say something? You've done an amazing job, I would have died if it weren't for you-” 

Liris shook her head. “No, no one said anything. That isn't what this is about. Flissa and Adan are gone,” her voice cracked, and once again, the guilt hit Namalya like a wave. So many dead and it was all her fault. She hadn't been able to save them. Flissa, Adan, Threnn, Seggrit, countless others. 

“I'm so sorry,” Namalya whispered. “It's my fault,” she'd been out in that cabin, she'd been so concerned about her personal life.

“It isn't your fault,” Liris said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Me leaving has nothing to do with you, or what you did or didn't do. You saved us all. People died, but that's war.”

“You'll take a horse with you, I won't let you walk all the way to wherever it is you're going. Write to me when you get there. I need to know that you're okay. I won't tell anyone if that's what you wish.” Liris was shaking her head no, but Namalya wasn't in the mood to argue. “Don't move,” she told her, walking toward the barn. She caught sight of Blackwall, chopping wood. Each heave of the ax was accompanied with a grunt. He was angry, lips pursed, brow furrowed, every inch of him a tense line. She glanced to where she could still see Liris near the gate and wondered what had happened. 

She thought she'd remembered seeing Liris and Blackwall together at some point, heads ducked close together. He had been the one who found Liris during the attack. She found one of the sturdier mounts, saddled him and finally acknowledged Master Dennet who had been watching her. “This one won't be coming back,” she informed him, then taking the reigns she walked him over to Liris. “Don't argue with me, you're taking him. Do you have enough supplies? Food, water? Do you have any money? I'll get you some, you'll need-”

“My lady,” Liris said, catching Namalya's hand. “Thank you, but I have what I need.” 

“I don't like this,” Namalya told her, crossing her arms over her chest. If she found out that Blackwall was the reason that Liris was leaving, well, she didn't know what she'd do, but she'd do something, and it wouldn't be pretty. “Stay safe, Liris, and I meant it, please, let me know that you're safe.” 

Then she was gone. Namalya watched until Liris was a speck on the horizon before she made her way up to Cullen's office. He was there, giving orders to some of his higher ranking troops. She leaned against the wall, just inside the door and watched, a faint smile on her face. He was so confident, so self-assured. Namalya couldn't help but wonder if he'd always been like that, or had it come from years of practice in his various roles of leadership. Because she could use some lessons on leadership.

He dismissed his troops and she crossed to his desk, leaned her hip on the edge. It was controlled chaos, she thought. The stacks of papers, various missives, a plate with cake crumbs? How come she didn't get cake? A small wooden cup with a flower. She stared at it, taken aback. It was one of her flowers, the ones that had been left on her windowsill for all those months. Of course, the flowers grew everywhere, but she remembered that one night, tucking one behind his ear, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was the same one.

“What's wrong?” he asked and she jerked her head up. 

“What makes you think something is wrong?” She was still smiling, he crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at her. “Oh, Dread Wolf take you,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest in a pout. She huffed, then dropped her arms and sighed. “Liris left.” 

“Why?” he asked, letting his arms fall back to his sides.

“She wouldn't tell me. I know that some people have left because they didn't feel safe, but-” Namalya turned her hands up and gave a little shrug. “I don't think that's what happened.” 

“I believe I heard that she and Blackwall had been spending time together, the Warden seems a good man,” he trailed off.

“I agree, but I don't know. I saw him earlier, if he knows about her leaving, he wasn't happy about it either. But, Liris is young, Creators, she's younger than I am,” she said with a laugh. “I told her to write, but I'm afraid she won't.” 

“Talk to Leliana, I'm sure she could see that she's safe,” Cullen suggested. Namalya made a quiet sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing. If Liris wanted to be gone, then Namalya would honor her wishes. “I could have a word with the Warden,” he continued and Namalya laughed quietly, shaking her head.

“No, Commander. Let it be for now.”

Cullen closed the distance between them and gently took hold of her left hand. “How is it healing?” he asked.

It was mostly healed, the gashes she'd made in her flesh. But she couldn't stand to look at the Anchor. They had named her the Inquisitor and given her more responsibilities she didn't want. When it was covered, she could almost pretend that it wasn't there. “Well,” she told him, then watched him unwrap it, look at what remained of her injuries. 

Then he closed her hand between both of his. “You are more than this mark, Namalya,” he said, voice quiet and insistent.

“Sometimes it's hard to remember that,” she admitted. “Especially when you all decided I should lead the Inquisition.”

Cullen tucked his forefinger under her chin. “You've been leading us since the beginning, you just have another title now.”

“Another title I don't want.”

Sighing, Cullen took a step back, hand going to the back of his neck. “I don't know what to say,” he turned away from her and Namalya's heart clenched. All she did was complain about being thrown into this. It wasn't fair to him when she knew he'd backed her every step of the way. He looked out for her.

“Can we begin out practice sessions again?” she asked, desperate to change the subject and because she missed those little escapes with him. She missed the nights more, but she wasn't sure where they would be able to go to just sit, and besides, so much had been going on lately she had barely even seen Cullen since they had arrived at Skyhold. 

“I-yes, I would like that. It seems an age since we've had a moment to breathe, doesn't it?”

“I still don't think we do,” she told him and sighed dramatically as she stood. “I am sure I have many duties to attend to and I should allow you to return to commanding the troops.” He brushed his hand along her arm, just a light touch, but she stopped, turned her face to look at him.

“There is a lookout, near the northern corner of the battlements, quite the view at night,” he told her and Namalya's heart skipped a few beats.

“Good to know,” she murmured, then slipped from his office. 

Namalya went about her business for the day, seeking out Josephine who had her looking over documents and signing papers most of the day. Namalya could hardly sit still, anxiously waiting for the sun to set. The day seemed to drag on forever. The archanist would arrive soon, and various information about getting into Halamshiral, the Winter Palace, to try and prevent Empress Celene's assassination. 

When she was finally granted freedom it was all she could do to keep herself from running pell-mell through Skyhold to get to the northern corner of the battlements. Cullen beat her there and he had two steaming mugs and a blanket. He hadn't seen her yet, he was pacing the small space, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. She could see the mugs, steam rising from them, and the blanket folded beside them. He was muttering to himself. Her hand went to the leather pouch on her hip, one of the few things she carried with her everywhere, and it contained the oil that she'd used to massage Cullen's temples with the night he'd had that headache. She wondered if it had been a bad day for him? 

Finally, she stepped closer. “Cullen?” He whirled around and she smiled at him. His eyes were wide and he just stared at her for a moment. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. Turned around, his back to her, then he looked back at her. He was holding one of the yellow flowers. “Uh,” he choked out the sound and even in the dark, she could see him blushing. “I know how much you liked getting them, so-” he broke off, holding it out toward her.

Namalya let out a delighted laugh and took the flower. “That's so sweet,” she breathed in the sweet scent and went up on her tip-toes. Still too low to reach his cheek, but she brushed a kiss against his jaw. “I see you brought provisions,” she said with a nod toward the drinks.

“Yes,” Cullen walked over to the edge, took one of the drinks and held it out to her. “Our new bartender made it, I'm not sure if we should be frightened or not.” 

Taking her drink and her flower she walked over to sit on the step near one of the cutouts in the stone wall, Cullen grabbing the other drink and the blanket joined her. They sat there silently for a while, aside from when Cullen wheezed in surprise at the strength of the hot drink. “I'm sorry,” Namalya told him, leaning against his shoulder. 

“For what?” he asked in surprise.

“Me,” she sighed. “Earlier, my complaining, I don't blame you, I mean, I do. But not really. I know all of this,” she held out her left hand. “It isn't your fault.”

“Stop apologizing for such ridiculous things,” he told her, bestowing a kiss on the top of her head. “You've been very much alone through most of this and if I can be someone that you can come to when you need to vent, let me be that person.” 

“You really are my best friend, Cullen,” she told him quietly, so grateful she had found him. 

“The feeling is quite mutual,” he said softly, leaning into her.


	10. Chapter 10

Namalya had been in the Fallow Mire for over a month. Fighting corpses and the Avvar. She nearly wept with relief when she saw Skyhold again. She called a meeting in the war room and had to use all her restraint not to fling herself into Cullen's arms when he walked in the room. “Good to see you again, Inquisitor,” he said, smiling at her as he came in.

“And you, Commander.”

Josephine was already there, and Leliana arrived a moment later. She gave them a rundown on what had happened, the troops had arrived before she had, so they already knew most of the details.

“This letter arrived from your Clan yesterday,” Leliana said, handing over a parchment. Of course, Leliana had already read it, the seal broken. Namalya's heart ached with want for her clan. She missed them terribly.

 

> _  
> Da'len,_
> 
> _I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._
> 
> _Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._
> 
>  
> 
> _Dareth shiral,_
> 
> _Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

 

Fear was a tangible force. She couldn't breathe. Her clan was in trouble. “The Duke of Wycome is an Inquisition ally; it is odd for him to let bandits so close to his city. Perhaps he could help the Dalish,” Josephine offered but Namalya was shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “No,” she hissed. “I will **not** just stand by while my clan has the potential to be slaughtered.” Her people needed her. Without another word, she ran out of the war room, bolted down the hallway and shoved past anyone that got in her way. She had to get to them. She had to help. The bog unicorn was a beast, but loyal and sturdy. Not bothering with a saddle, she mounted it and nudged his hindquarters and they were off. People rushed to get out of her way as she tore through the courtyard and through the gates.

Namalya rode hard and fast, sailed across the Waking Sea at Jader. She barely slept, stopped only for the horse, then pushed on again. All she could think was 'what if I'm too late?'

She spotted the lookout, let out a familiar whistle, saw heads peek out of the tree they were perched in. “Leya?” one of them called. “Mythal's Blessing, is it really you?”

“Iras Amelan?” _Where is Keeper?_ They pointed and she rode ahead, until she spotted the aravels, then she was jumping from her horse, and running. She heard voices around her, gasps of her name, voices she knew, that she'd missed so desperately. “Keeper!” she called when she spotted the woman. Her long silver hair was down her back in a braid and she looked ready for battle.

“Leya?” the woman asked as she turned to face her. “When I sent word for help I didn't expect-”

Namalya threw her arms around Deshanna, hugging her tightly, while she did her best to hold back the tears. “Did you think I would just sit around and wait to see what happened? Tell me everything, what's going on? Has anyone been hurt? Where are my-” she broke off when she spotted her father walking quickly toward them. Namalya ran to him.

“Ara vherain? What are you doing here?” He caught her, lifted her off her feet and spun her in a circle.

“Ar garem halani,” _I came to help_ , she choked out, the sob finally breaking free. She clung to him, desperately. “Papa, I missed you, I missed you so much.” He stroked his hand over the back of her head, held onto her just as tight.

Elwen held his daughter away from him, wiped away her tears and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Ma'ashalan vhenas,” _my daughter is home_. Her mother came running a few moments later and hugged Namalya so tightly she could scarcely breathe. It was a wonderful feeling, she thought. Then she turned back to the Keeper to ask for details about the bandits.

 

It was the middle of the night, Namalya stood ready, with her old elven hunting bow in hand. They had watched these bandits slowly creep closer and closer over the last several hours. Fear was a knot in her belly. She had rushed off from Skyhold so quickly, surely she could have gotten some help. But she was so afraid they would tell her she couldn't go, that she wouldn't be allowed to help her people.

Now, she very well might not live to regret the decision. The 'bandits' were very well armed. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see her fellow clan members, perched in trees and some crouched behind bushes. They had sneaked the youngest ones and the ones who wouldn't be able to fight away as discretely as they could. All they could do was wait now.

Namalya let her eyes slip shut, sent up a silent prayer to the creators. To Mythal, Andruil and Elgar'nan. A sound caught her attention, it was coming from behind her. She whirled around and stood in stunned silence. Cullen stood before her and then she spotted the force coming up behind him. All bearing the Inquisitions symbol. Her clan grew wary and Namalya quickly looked between the oncoming force, and her clan interspersed with the soldiers. She didn't have the chance to do anything but react.

“For Clan Lavellan!” he roared and the soldiers charged the so-called bandits. A moment later, her clan followed.

The battle ended practically before it even began. The bandits not killed, fled. In the heat of the moment, she'd lost sight of Cullen, and now he was all she could think about. She had to find him. He'd followed her. He'd brought soldiers. He had come. Namalya found him, speaking to the soldiers, not a huge number, but still an impressive force. “There is a clearing to the west, a good distance from your clan's settlement. They will set up camp for the night there,” he said, turning to look at her.

She threw herself at him, jumped, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and he caught her. His arms banded around her waist and she could feel the stubble on his chin against her cheek as she pressed her face into his neck. “You saved my clan,” she choked out the words. She felt him sigh, warm breath against her ear.

“I feared we would be too late,” he admitted softly. Then she heard a throat clear and lifted her head peering over Cullen's shoulder she saw the Keeper and her parents. Heat scorched her cheeks at the image they probably made. Her feet dangling as Cullen held her as if she were weightless.

“Keeper, Mama, Papa,” she said, voice coming out a squeak. Cullen's grip tightened, his whole body stiffening, and then he slowly let Namalya slide down his body until she stood on her own two feet again. He turned, inclining his head and Namalya chewed her lip. “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, from the Inquisition. He leads the soldiers,” she explained, her hands flapping in her sudden mortification. “Cullen, this is Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, and my parents, Elwen and Nell.”

Deshanna stepped forward first, holding out her hands, Cullen immediately held out his own, and she clasped his tightly. “Andaran Athish'an, Commander. You and your troops could not have arrived at a better time.”

“Well,” Cullen said, “technically, they are Namalya's troops.”

Deshanna smiled brightly. “Leya, you never cease to surprise,” she sent her a look from the corner of her eye. “You'll stay, Commander. This calls for a celebration.”

Namalya looked at Cullen, pleadingly. “You're the Inquisitor,” he said. “You make the final decision, but I think it would be wise to stay at least for a few days, just to be sure there aren't any further attacks.”

She could have kissed him. She wanted to leap into his arms and hold his face and just kiss him silly. The urge took her by surprise. Deshanna linked arms with Namalya's mother and the two walked away, heads ducked together whispering, leaving her father standing before them, hands clasped behind his back, he looked Cullen up and down. Cullen shifted awkwardly beside her, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck.

“Papa,” Namalya hissed quietly.

“Are you protecting my daughter? Keeping her safe?”

“Papa!” she yelled this time, her cheeks burning. She was mortified. “I'm sorry, Cullen, he is just-”

But Cullen was smiling. “With all due respect, Sir, I believe that Namalya is quite capable of taking care of herself. Though, should it ever come to that, I will be there, at her back.” Just like he had been today.

“Good answer,” her father said with a hint of a smile before turning and walking away.

Then she and Cullen were alone and she turned to look at him. “I'm sorry about him, I don't know why-”

“What did I tell you about apologizing for ridiculous things?”

She stared up at him, still amazed. “You came,” she said quietly. “I didn't think-” she broke off noticing a tear in the fabric of his shirt, on his arm between pauldron and bracer. “You're bleeding,” Namalya's heart kicked in her chest and she quickly scanned over him, searching for any other injuries.

“It isn't-” Cullen began, but she cut him off. She grabbed his other hand, dragged him toward camp, asked Saevel for a kit with supplies to bandage a wound in Elven before she urged Cullen to sit on one of the large logs. She tugged at his cloak, then her fingers began working free the straps of his armor.

“Namalya,” he caught her hands, but she tugged them away, then his armor was in a neat pile on the ground beside his feet. “I'm fine, it's fine,” he told her, but he couldn't deny the fact that he liked how she fussed.

“You were hurt, defending my clan,” she was muttering quietly, he believed more to herself than to him.

“This isn't necessary,” he told her, and in the next moment, his shirt was gone. One of the elves had brought her a leather pouch, then after pausing to take in Cullen's appearance, he hurried off. Namalya sat down, straddling the log, and he turned his face to watch her as delicate fingers curled around his arm, inspecting the injury. It was barely a scratch, the blood long since dried.

But Namalya continued to fuss. She cleaned the scratch and smoothed the salve along it before carefully wrapping it with gauze. “You saved my clan,” she finally said, her hands resting, curled around his bicep.

“Did you believe the Inquisition wouldn't back you?” he asked her, genuinely curious. She had rushed out so quickly after reading the letter. Leliana had informed him she would have scouts investigate, and that he should gather a force to aide Namalya. It had been his first thought, what he'd been going to do regardless of Leliana's plan.

“I-” Namalya broke off, leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his bare shoulder. “Ma vheraan vhenan.”

Cullen stared down at the top of her head. She'd said that before, several times in fact. “What does that mean?” he asked. His grasp of the Elven language was flimsy, to say the least.

She lifted her head and was grinning. “I'm not telling you,” Namalya said, then pressed her lips against his shoulder, which sent heat flooding through his body.

 _Maker's breath_ , he thought, this woman would likely be the death of him. “I uh-didn't get hurt during the fight,” he admitted, cheeks flaming. Her head canted to the side, brows arching. “I was- there was- I didn't see it and uh-” dragging in a breath, he spit the words out in a rush. “I ran into a tree branch.”

Namalya's teeth closed over her lower lip as she stared at him. “My hero,” she murmured, a giggle breaking free.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time with the Lavellan Clan - and Namalya unintentionally tortures Cullen.

Music was playing and he could hear laughter, singing. He followed the sound and a smile spread across his face. Several of Clan Lavellan were dancing to the fiddles being played. Namalya was one of them. She took his breath away. She had shed her armor and was wearing a dress, with thin straps. The top fit snug against her torso, flaring out at her hips. The dress flowed around her like water as she moved. She was a sight.

In the back of his mind, he knew he was staring, that he should look away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. She was happy. Her hair was loose and she had one of those flowers tucked behind her ear. “Leya! Leya! Leya!” a small child ran into the dancing and flung himself into Namalya's arms. She caught him, spun him around and peppered kisses all over his face.

“Ren! Ma’da’isenatha! _My little dragon_. Chubby arms wrapped around Namalya's neck, legs around her waist and she hugged the child.

“You're back! You're staying right!? You're not gonna leave again?” the little boy pleaded.

“Never!” she exclaimed, squeezing him before rejoining the dancing, with the child on her hip.

Cullen rubbed his hand over his mouth, finally turning away. He knew that she was unhappy with her position in the Inquisition and he didn't know what to do. He wouldn't force her to return. True, they needed her, but they needed her to want to be there.

An arm linked with his and he glanced down and saw Keeper Deshanna. “Come,” she said, leading him to another area of the camp. There were a handful of other women there, Namalya's mother included. “Tell me, Commander,” Deshanna said pouring a drink into a mug and handing it to him. “About your Inquisition and how our dearest Leya is doing.”

He told them what he could, praising Namalya and all that she had done, given her situation.  


It was late when Namalya finally tracked Cullen down again. He was sitting on the ground only a little apart from the others around the fire. His back against the large log looking very intent on the story Hahren was telling. The only problem was he was speaking in Dalish, and she was well aware that Cullen had very limited knowledge of the language. Sinking down onto the log beside him, she took in the mug in his hand, bit her lip. “Commander,” she said softly, nudging his shoulder with her knee. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Huh?” he looked up at her, cheeks a bit pink, hair a little haphazard. He hadn't put his armor back on, just wore the simple tunic and trousers and it was strange to see him out of uniform. She liked it. “Oh,” he looked at the mug, then back at her. “Just the one,” he said, taking another drink. But she knew her clan all too well. Not one to let a cup to empty, someone was always running around refilling cups with honey mead. Her own cup had been refilled several times already.

“Ah,” she said with a slight nod. “Are you enjoying the stories?” she asked, tilting her head toward Hahren.

“It's fascinating,” he told her and she laughed softly. “True, I have only managed to pick out maybe three words the entire night, but it is the cadence, the inflection, the reactions of the others. Your clan has been very welcoming,” he said softly and Namalya couldn't help herself, she slipped her fingers into his hair, stroking lightly.

Cullen made a quiet sound, leaned into her touch and then his cheek was resting against her thigh. “They like you, I think they want to keep you,” she told him.

“I've never spent any time with the Dalish, your clan is-” he paused, searching for the word.

“Overbearing?” she offered, knowing full well how her clan could be.

“No,” he said, then chuckled. “Well, a little. But I was going to say, I see where you get it now.”

“Did you just call me overbearing?” she asked with feigned indigence, her fingers giving his hair a slight tug.

He grunted quietly, head tipping back to rest on the log, looking up at her. “They are so full of love. I understand why you miss it so much.” Her fingers went still as she stared down at him. “I've been away from my family for such a long time, I'd nearly forgotten-” he broke off. “Maker, you are-” he broke off again, and Namalya desperately wanted to know what he was going to say. But he lifted his head, gave it a shake and went silent.

Her fingers began to stroke his hair again and after a few minutes, his cheek pressed against her thigh again. She sipped her drink and listened to Hahren tell the same stories she'd heard a thousand times before. Calloused fingers brushed very lightly against the inside of her bare ankle and she went still. It seemed an absent-minded gesture and it sent a thrill through her, that left her a bit dazed.

She felt a hand brush against her bare shoulder, glanced up to see her mother. Nell kissed the top of her head before she crossed to where Elwen stood and they both headed for their aravel. It was late, others were beginning to slink off to their own spaces. Looking down at the crown of Cullen's head, firelight dancing over his golden hair, she realized if he had a tent, it was off with the other soldiers, which was a good distance away. “Come on, Commander,” she said, leaning down pressing her face into the top of his head, she inhaled.

“Hm?” he asked, tipping his face back and his pupils blown wide, the honeyed brown of his eyes barely visible.

“Time for bed,” she murmured, felt his fingers flex around her ankle and Namalya was hit with the sudden yearning desire to know what those fingers would feel like sliding up her calf, on the soft spot behind her knees.

“Bed,” he repeated, blinking slowly.

She had no right to think that way about him. He was her friend. That was all. Her best friend, but he hadn't given her any indication that he wanted more. Then her mind went to the kiss on her cheek, his body over hers as she lay in the snow. The little touches. His lips on her temple.

He is drunk, she told herself. “Bed,” she repeated and ached for the loss of his hand on her ankle. It was silly, she thought. Cullen was mostly steady on his feet as they walked to her tent, her arm around his waist, and his around her shoulders. Inside her tent, she nudged him toward her pallet and tugged at his boots.

“Leya,” he said, voice a little slurred, but it made her heart stutter, hearing him say her name like that. “Where...?” it was dark in her tent and she imagined he could see very little, where she knew where everything was and could see the outline of most everything.

“My tent,” she told him, grabbing a blanket and tugging it over him. “It's too late to make the trek to the Inquisition's camp, Commander. Go to sleep.” He didn't say anything else and Namalya dug through her old chest that held her clothes, found the sleeping clothes she'd always favored and stripped out of the dress. She glanced to where Cullen lay and froze for a second, wondering if his eyes had adjusted if he were even still awake. After a beat, she tugged the top on and dragged the silky shorts up her legs, then crawled back to the pallet. Cullen was snoring softly and she smiled, stretching out beside him.

 

_They had been too late. Too late. Cullen's worst fear. The so-called-bandits had arrived before the Inquisition forces. Her clan had been slaughtered. Blood and bodies were everywhere. “Namalya!” he yelled, searching for her. She had to have escaped. She couldn't be dead. But then he found her, body pierced with arrows in a pool of blood. She wasn't in her armor though, but in a dress, a simple one, that hugged her body, flowed around her, and on her head was a crown of those little yellow flowers, bruised and bloodied._

Cullen jerked awake, inhaling sharply. Maker's breath. It was just a dream, he told himself, just a dream. It only took a moment for him to realize there was a body against his, warm and soft. He took a quick inventory, his arm was asleep, being used as a pillow by the woman beside him, who was none other than Namalya.

He remembered sitting beside the fire, listening to the Dalish stories he couldn't understand, but he'd enjoyed them nonetheless. Namalya had come, sat beside him, stroked his hair. She'd been beautiful. Maker. When he'd looked up, her face against the backdrop of the trees and the night sky, he'd nearly confessed everything. But he hadn't, had he? They were laying together, a blanket around them, but he was clothed still.

“Hm?” He felt Namalya shift beside him, twisting and rolling until she faced him. “Cullen?” her voice was rough with sleep. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he told her quietly, felt her press her face into his chest. The dream still had his heart racing, but he was fine. Just another nightmare. At least it hadn't been one of his usual ones.

“Is it your head?” she asked, pushing up onto her elbow, her hand rubbing over her face. “You made a sound.”

It was still the middle of the night, the tent dark, but he could see her hair sticking out every direction and it made him smile. “It's nothing, just a bad dream,” he admitted. “I'm not used to sharing a bed with someone-” he felt his cheeks flush.

“It was too late,” she told him. “And we were both too drunk, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-” she drew away from him, the blanket slipping down, revealing the barely-there top she wore.

 _Maker's breath_ , he thought, sent up a silent prayer for preservation. He could see the curve of her breasts and he clenched his eyes shut.

“It is your head,” she said, noticing him clenching his eyes. “Here, I have-” she crawled over to a small stack of boxes and Cullen had made the mistake of opening his eyes. Namalya on her hands and knees, her rear facing him, and Maker, was she even wearing any smalls?

His breath hitched and then she was crawling back to him. “Come on,” she said, sitting and patting her lap, her bare thighs. Cullen knew he needed to resist, to tell her no and not to torment himself more with something he knew he could never have. He lifted his head and then she moved as well so that he could rest his head in her lap. Her calves at the base of his neck and if he turned his head, his cheek pressed against the inside of her thigh. Bare and soft and he tried to think of something else. Anything else, to distract his body from reacting. He pushed at the blankets, hoping to conceal the rapidly growing bulge.

Then her fingers were on him and he knew it was a losing battle. She was humming softly and he let his eyes slip shut. “Do you want to tell me?” she asked, voice a whisper.

Cullen stayed silent for a long time. “I've had nightmares for as long as I can remember, it seems. Usually, they are because of what happened at the Circle. Sometimes because of Kirkwall. But this one,” he opened his eyes, looked up at her, saw the intent look on her face. “The Inquisition was too late and we were unable to help your clan,” he said softly. Her hands stilled.

“I've had one similar as well,” she admitted after a moment, her hands stroking again. “I dream of finding my clan, slaughtered. Ren and all the other children-” her voice cracked and she reached up to wipe away the tear that escaped.

“I found you,” Cullen said quietly. His mind flashed to the horrific sight, and he clenched his eyes shut, willing it away.

“But it wasn't real,” she told him, her hands slipping down to stroke down his neck, and under the edge of his shirt collar where her fingers massaged his shoulders. “You came to my rescue, as always. Ma vheraan vhenan,” her voice trailed off in a sound that was barely a whisper.

“No one will tell me what that means,” Cullen said. He knew his pronunciation was horrible. But he'd asked the Keeper and even Namalya's mother. He'd earned a few raised eyebrows and some grins, but they wouldn't tell him. Vhenan he'd heard, it seemed a term of endearment, but he couldn't be sure.

Namalya laughed softly. “Oh, Commander, it means,” she let her fingers slip into his hair. “That you are very important to me.”

Cullen rolled, resisted the urge to sink his teeth into the curve of her inner thigh, and caught her around the waist. He tugged and she was beneath him, smiling. “You enjoy tormenting me, don't you?”

“Maybe, a little,” she admitted, then broke into a yawn. “How is your head?”

“Better, and it's still late,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to smooth over her hair, he found the flower that had been tucked behind her ear and set it aside, off the pillow. Then Cullen stretched back out beside her, this time on his side and drew her against his chest. Namalya twisted so that she lay with her back to his chest, his arm once again pillowed under her head. He pulled the blanket back up around them, making sure that she was covered since she was barely wearing anything, and then he laid his head down, her hair tickling his nose and his lips.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namalya discovers jealousy! And that she might feel more for Cullen than she previously believed.

Namalya woke alone, with a new bouquet of small yellow flowers beside her head. She sighed happily, her fingers dancing over the delicate stems. She lay there for a while, thinking about the night before and her conversation with Cullen. If the Inquisition's forces hadn't come, her clan would have been massacred, herself included. There was no denying that.

As much as she loved the idea of staying here, never going back to Skyhold, she knew, deep down that she couldn't. It was her duty, to her clan, to Thedas. To Cullen. Rolling onto her back she glanced to the space where he'd slept the night before, the pillow still held the indent of his head. He had held her. In sleep she had realized, she must have curled up against him, his body warm. But after waking from the nightmare, he'd held her again. “Only because it was such a small space,” she told herself, tossing back the blankets. She dressed in leggings and one of her long tunics.

After wrangling her hair into a braid, she tucked the flowers into her hair and crawled out of her tent. She could hear people up and about, and her eyes went to the big table and she spotted Cullen immediately. Sitting beside Amedee. Namalya faltered in her steps when she saw Amedee slide her hand along Cullen's shoulders.

There was a sudden tightness in her chest and she scowled at Amedee's slender fingers curling around his shoulder. Gritting her teeth she crossed to the table, her own hands coming down on Cullen's shoulders. He jumped and Amedee looked up, smiling sweetly. “Leya,” she said, her voice warm and guilt was suddenly a rock in her belly. What was wrong with her? Cullen didn't belong to her, if he hadn't objected to the touch, she had no right to interject herself between them. Amedee practically jumped up from the bench and dragged her into a hug. “I only just got back this morning, I heard-” she broke off. “Mythal'enaste ma enem.”

Namalya felt Cullen's hand reach up to curl over hers that remained on his shoulder, and she realized that her fingers were digging into his shoulder. He squeezed gently and tilted his head back to look at her. Immediately, she loosened her hold, but Cullen didn't release her hand for a few more heartbeats. “Yes,” Namalya said, looking back at Amedee. “But be grateful for Cullen bringing the Inquisitions' forces. They are really why our clan has reason to celebrate. You look good, Amedee.” It was true, though the woman had always been attractive.

Slender with darkly tanned skin, a few shades darker than Namalya's, her hair was black as pitch and she wore the curls longer than she had before. Amedee had always been one who handled much of their dealings with the humans. She was good with them and they liked her. She waved off the compliment and popped a berry into her mouth. “The Commander here was just telling me about the Inquisition,” she said sinking back down onto the bench beside him.

“Oh?” Namalya inquired, she was tempted to shove between the two, force Amedee to slide down, but no one sat on his other side, it would make no sense. She didn't understand why she felt so possessive of him. She slid onto the bench and she might have sat closer than was absolutely necessary. Thighs touching, she leaned forward, peering around the man as he tried to eat.

“Just a few things,” he said quietly and Namalya looked up at him, could see his cheeks were tinged pink.

“How you closed the breach and survived taking on a dragon alone,” her voice was full of wonder, and Namalya couldn't be sure if it was for her deeds, or because of Cullen. The man was attractive, there was no denying that. What woman wouldn't want him? She felt that tightness in her chest again at the thought and ducked her head down. Namalya made a quiet noncommittal sound and pushed at the food in the bowl someone had set in front of her.

She heard her name and looked up, smiling as the toddler sprinted toward the table. “Leya! Leya!” Without being obvious she scooted away from Cullen, her sudden burst of possessiveness made left her feeling awkward, especially as the two continued to converse, Amedee asking questions about the soldiers and Cullen, his experience as a Templar.

“Ma ’da’isenatha!” He scrambled up onto the bench beside her and she offered him her bowl, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. “How is my favorite dragon this morning?” It wasn't long before someone came and dragged Namalya away from the table, and she was grateful for the reprieve. She couldn't figure out why she felt so possessive of Cullen. She had always liked Amedee, they weren't close, but always friendly. Cullen would be lucky to have someone like her, and vice-versa. _But Cullen is mine_ , said a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

 

It was late in the afternoon, Cullen was sitting with Amedee near the small river that wasn't far from the Lavellan's camp. He hadn't seen Namalya since breakfast that morning after she'd been dragged away by one of her clan members. Amedee had asked to accompany him to see the soldiers when he'd gone to inform them that they were to return to Skyhold, and he also had sent word back to his fellow advisors that there was a definite possibility that Namalya would not be returning.

Amedee had been full of questions, about Templars, and the Circle, about the Inquisition and what Namalya was doing. He'd been able to steer the conversation away from anything too personal. He had asked her questions as well, about her role within the clan. What life was like on a daily basis when they weren't under attack from bandits.

“Hasn't Namalya told you of life with the clan?” she asked.

Cullen smiled a little, thinking of their late night conversations. “Yes, some, she spoke very fondly of her clan, especially when there was snow.”

Amedee laughed. “Leya loved the snowball fights I think the most out of anyone. Did she tell you she made a slingshot once?”

He chuckled quietly, “no, she didn't mention that one.”

And then Amedee was kissing him. It took several seconds for Cullen's mind to catch up. Her lips were soft against his and the kiss was nice. Cullen hadn't had many kisses in his life. He reached up, his hands curving around Amedee's biceps before he gently pushed her away from him. “Amedee,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “No. While I am flattered, there is someone else that I-.” he broke off, searching for the words.

She was smiling at him, head canted to the side. She didn't look disappointed or angry, in fact, she looked pleased. “Ah, I wondered. You do care about her.”

“I-” Cullen dropped his hands and just looked at her. “What? Who?”

“Leya. I wasn't sure. I mean, it was quite obvious she's got a thing for you. I've never seen her like that before,” she touched Cullen's shoulder. “Do you have indents in your shoulder from her grip this morning?”

Cullen's brow furrowed, wondered what he'd missed. Namalya had gripped his shoulders tightly that morning, nails digging in through the fabric of his shirt, but he'd thought that maybe there was bad blood between herself and Amedee, but since her mood and attention had shifted almost immediately, he'd let the matter slip from his mind. “If you believe that, why did you kiss me?” Namalya most certainly did not have 'a thing' for him. She made a point of commenting on their friendship regularly.

“Leya is clan, she's family. I wanted to know what kind of man she was getting herself involved with.”

He was shaking his head. “No,” he told her. “You're mistaken, we aren't involved, we are just friends,” though he wished there was more. He thought of her body curled against his, her soothing his headaches, the way he always knew she was there for him if he needed anything. She was very dear to him and he never wanted to risk that. “Besides, last I heard she wasn't planning on returning to Skyhold and I must.”

 

Namalya curled up on the pallet of blankets and pillows her parents had always used as a couch and drew her knees up to her chest. She'd spent the last hour crying, though she had no idea why. So what if Cullen and Amedee were kissing? It didn't bother her, shouldn't bother her. But when she'd gone looking for them, only to find them sitting by the river, Amedee's hand cupping his jaw as they kissed Namalya hadn't been able to breathe.

She lay there for a long time, listening to her parents, teasing each other. She heard her mother's indignant gasp and then a loud sucking kiss that was interrupted by her mother's laughter. It made Namalya's heartache. She'd missed them so much. Realizing she must have dozed off she felt a figure sit near her head, Namalya tipped her head back and saw her mother. She shifted to rest her head on her thigh and sighed. “I'll miss the clan,” she said quietly. “I'll miss you and papa,” her voice cracked. “But I have to go back.”

“Of course you do,” Nell said, smile lines crinkling around pale blue eyes. “I would have expected nothing less from my daughter.” Her hands were gently stroking through Namalya's hear and she let her eyes slip shut. “But I am curious, does this have anything to do with the very handsome Commander Cullen?”

“Yes,” she said, voice quiet. “But not for the reasons you think.” Because Namalya wasn't ready to admit to herself that her feelings for Cullen might run far deeper than just friendship. “Cullen has been through... a lot. He's never given up, no matter how hard it has gotten. He's refused to give in, he keeps fighting, because it's the right thing to do. To help people, to keep them safe. How could I do any less? I have to go, for you and papa, for my little shadow Ren, our clan, for every living soul in Thedas.” She lifted her marked hand up, stared at the glowing mark that had barely earned a second glance from the people in her clan.

“You do your people proud,” Nell told her. “And your parents.”

 

It was late when Cullen finally managed to track Namalya down. She sat on the ground near the fire, back against a log, sleeping toddler in her lap. It was quite the image. He found himself watching for a long while before he finally crossed and sat down on the log beside her, a reversed image of their position the night before. Her fingers were in the boy's soft brown hair, a blanket wrapped around them both. “We'll leave for Skyhold in the morning,” she said softly and Cullen looked down at the top of her head.

“I thought you were staying,” he said quietly.

“You know as well as I do that I can't. I have a duty,” she sighed and tilted her head back to look up at him. “I'm going to stay in my parent's tent tonight, so you'll have more room in mine.”

He wanted to argue that he didn't want more room, he'd been quite content with the previous night's arrangement. But maybe it had made her uncomfortable after all. Obviously, Amedee had been wrong in her assessment of Namalya's feelings toward him, as he'd suspected.

 

Early the next morning as the sun began to edge up over the horizon, Cullen stood with the horses, watching Namalya say her goodbyes to her clan. He knew that it was hard for her, understood why, but he was grateful she'd made the decision to return to Skyhold.

Elwen walked up to stand beside Cullen. “My daughter is fierce, but she is still my little girl. My little lion cub, she always will be. The thought of her going up against this creature, Corypheus, it unsettles me.”

Fierce, indeed. Namalya was a force to be reckoned with. “She isn't alone in this battle,” he told the man, who so clearly adored his daughter. “I will do everything in my power to see that she returns to you and your clan as soon as possible.”

Namalya crossed to them, hugged Elwen and Cullen could see the dampness on her cheeks, the redness of her eyes. Elwen hugged her tightly, said something quietly to her before giving Cullen a sideways glance.

“Papa,” she hissed, glancing at Cullen, her cheeks had gone a delightful shade of pink, then she rolled her eyes, kissed Elwen's cheek before stepping away and mounting the beast she had claimed as her own. Cullen was not fond of the bog unicorn, the undead creature, though it did seem rather devoted to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hmmed and hawed about how long I was planning to draw out the slow burn... sorry/not sorry. It's going to drag on a bit longer.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is gifted with new information and he runs with it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking total creative liberties with Dalish culture.

They had been on the road for a few days already and Namalya had barely said a word. Cullen didn't know what to say, or to do. He knew how much she hated being the Inquisitor and how hard leaving her clan had been. He also knew that there was nothing he could say that would make it better for her. They stopped at a pond to water their horses and Cullen caught sight of a yellow flower. It wasn't the usual one he'd picked for her, this one was bigger, it had the faintest tinge of orange near the center.

Without a second thought, he picked it and looked over to where she was returning from relieving herself in the bushes. She had her head down, her arms wrapped around herself. He thought of Amedee's words, and the note and small package she'd secreted into his bag and his cheeks flamed brightly. He had no idea if Amedee was right and he was afraid of damaging their friendship. Because that meant far more to him than anything else. Yes, he wanted more, but not so much so that he was willing to lose her altogether.

Cullen carried the flower back to her, she was crouched down, rifling through her bag. “I'm sorry,” he told her and she looked up, startled.

“For what?” she asked, then her lips twisted into a half smile. It wasn't the usual delight she expressed when he'd given her flowers, or over the ones she'd found on her window sill.

“I know that leaving your clan was hard for you,” he crouched down on his haunches beside her. “I don't know how to fix it. I don't know what to say, or do to make it better for you. You've been so quiet the last few days.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “What, no, I-” she sighed. “I'm sorry, I haven't meant to be. I've just been... thinking.”

“About what?” Cullen asked, curious. She didn't reply, just stared down at the flower for several long moments and Cullen was beginning to think she wouldn't answer him. Which made him wonder if their friendship wasn't already fracturing and Amedee had been wrong.

“Amedee,” she said quietly and he jerked slightly. She met his gaze, Maker's breath, her eyes were bloodshot. “I saw the two of you,” Namalya said finally. “Down by the river. Part of me hates her, and I don't know why.”

Cullen's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what she was saying. She'd seen him and Amedee down by the river. The kiss, he thought. No, because what were the odds that she would have seen that one moment in time.

“She's nice, she's always been nice, she is a good person, and I-” she broke off. “You like her?”

“She is nice,” Cullen agreed, then he reached out, his hands covering Namalya's, the flower still held between her fingers. “But I'm not interested in her, she kissed me, and,” he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. Andraste' preserve him, why did he always have to blush? “I told her I wasn't interested.”

Namalya's eyes were fixed on their hands, on the flower, then her head popped up, brow furrowed. “You aren't? But she's beautiful and-”

_Not you,_ Cullen wanted to say, but he just shook his head. “I was flattered, but, I don't want Amedee.” Cullen squeezed her hands gently. “Come on, there is a town not far, why don't we get a room for the night, you look like you could use a good nights rest, we'll arrive in Jader tomorrow instead, and will still be back at Skyhold in no time.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she wanted to argue, but couldn't bring herself to. They mounted their horses and began on the trail again. “I wonder what happened to the person who was leaving me the flowers before, in Haven. Were they killed? Did they leave?” she let out a quiet snort. “Did they decide I was a failure as the Herald of Andraste like Elias did?”

Cullen glanced over at her. “You kept all of them. I saw them after you'd closed the breach when I took you back to your room.”

There was a slightly wistful smile on her face. “It was a sweet gesture, whoever it was. I don't think they realized how much it meant to me. I'd never been given flowers before. The fact that it was a flower that matched my vallaslin,” she sighed. “Our vallaslins are important to us, the one that we chose, the color... to give someone a gift that in some way mimics it – it is usually reserved for courtship. My father was from another clan,” she explained. “But they and Lavellan were camped near each other for a time. He found beautiful turquoise stones that matched her vallaslin, she still has them. Cherishes each and every one of them. The largest one she wears on a chain around her neck. He had it shaped into a heart, and it rests over hers.”

_A gesture of courtship?_ Cullen wondered what else he could find that matched the pale yellow of Namalya's vallaslin. He wanted to shower her with more flowers, and he thought there might be a stone that color, or at least close.

“I know that whoever was leaving the flowers wasn't courting me, it was just nice. I hope they are okay, where ever they are.”

He didn't know if he should open his mouth to tell her, or not. _It was me. I did it. I left every single one. If I'd known it was a method of courtship, I would have left more._ Instead, he asked about Ren, the little boy who had clung to her like a leech.

Namalya smiled adoringly. “My shadow, my little dragon,” she told him with a laugh. “He's the son of a friend in the clan, they joked about how he must in some part be my child as well, because since he was old enough to crawl he's loved the forest like I did. So when he was old enough to walk, we'd go for walks, just the two of us. We'd sneak away from the clan after I informed his parents, and just spend the day out there, alone.”

She sighed, rubbed her eyes. “I think I miss him the most,” her laugh was quiet, but he could see how much it hurt her, and Cullen wished he could make it hurt less. He thought of his own nieces and nephews, whom he'd never met. Bonds that he didn't have.

 

They arrived in the small town and after asking around, found that the local tavern had rooms above it that one could rent, so while Namalya saw to stabling their horses, Cullen went to the tavern to procure a few rooms, but as he walked up to the barkeep, he decided to take a risk that he knew he may very well regret. “A room, please, if you have one available,” he said. He was wearing plain clothes, a simple tunic, and trousers, his armor packed away, as was Namalya's. She'd been wearing the woolen fingerless gloves that one of her clan had made for her, concealing the mark.

No one knew who they were in this little town. The man behind the counter named a price, and Cullen pulled the coin from his pocket. “You wouldn't by chance have a bathtub that could be sent up?” he asked, hopeful. “You see, my wife and I-” he broke off, laughed quietly. “Newlyweds. We've been traveling and I'd like to-” he broke off, searching for the words. Pamper her. Worship her.

The big man grinned broadly. “Yes, yes, we have a tub. A fine copper one. I'll have it sent up immediately.”

Cullen smiled. “Thank you,” he said, then after taking the key to the room, he left the tavern to find Namalya, and silently prayed that he didn't mess it all up. Taking his satchel as well as her heavier one, when he met her back at the stable, they made their way to the tavern.

“I could have carried that,” she told him, laughing quietly. He wasn't so much struggling with the weight, but the awkwardness of carrying the two. But he'd insisted, repeatedly, and she'd finally given in.

“No,” he told her, emphatically, which just made her laugh again. She wasn't sure what had gotten into him. The flower from when they'd stopped at the pond, then insisting on getting a room and taking a bit longer to get back to Skyhold? She twirled the flower in her hand, unable to stop smiling. She knew he wasn't courting her, he'd had no idea about the Dalish custom, so she believed it would be the last one she received from him, which caused a little pang in her chest.

Namalya used the key to unlock the door and she nearly gasped. For being a small room, in a tiny tavern, it was gorgeous. The bed was massive and took up a good portion of the room. There was a large copper bathtub beside the fire, and a small table and two chairs. “Oh,” she said her eyes flicking to the bed again. “Only one bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Cullen told her, setting their belongings on the dresser.

“No, that's silly,” she said, waving her hand. “The bed is huge. I'm pretty sure that we could fit half the Inquisition in there and no one would be touching,” Namalya said with a soft laugh. “I don't mind sharing if you don't.”

“So long as you're the only other one in that bed, I believe that Dorian would hog the covers.”

She snorted. The laugh burst out of her and ended with a snort. Cullen's heart took flight at the sound. Namalya clamped her hand over her mouth as she laughed, their merriment interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. “Hot water for the tub,” a voice called.

Namalya's brow furrowed and she looked at Cullen, she was about to say they hadn't ordered a bath, but Cullen drew open the door. “Yes, thank you,” he said stepping back to let the two women in, both carrying buckets.

“What-” Namalya shook her head, trying to make sense of it. “Why-”

Cullen tipped her head back with his fingers tucked under her chin. “Take a bath, relax. I'll go see about finding us some dinner.” Then he leaned in close and Namalya's breath locked up in her throat when she felt his breath against her ear. “Enjoy a few more nights as Leya Lavellan, with nothing more important than a hot bath and a good nights sleep in a luxurious bed.”

He stepped back and she was certain she was blushing, though she had no idea why. Cullen had touched her before, he'd kissed her cheek, he'd hugged her, held her, carried her, so why, oh why had that sent her heart into a frenzy and caused her blood to heat in her veins?

The women smiled at her and ducked out with calls that they would be right back with more water. Namalya left the door propped open and sat on the edge of the bed while the women made a few trips back and forth with water. On the final trip, one of the women brought up a small folding table and a tray with an assortment of soaps and a bottle of wine and two glasses. Then they were gone and she was alone. Namalya only debated a few moments before she stripped and all but dove into the hot water.

Biting her lip she eyed the bottle of wine, it was already open and smelled divine. She poured a glass and sunk back into the tub. It was not a luxury she was accustomed to. Even the beds were relatively new to her. With her clan they made their own beds of pillows and blankets, some had thin stuffed mattresses or hammocks. But a real bed, with thick cushions and down comforters were still a wonder to her.

She'd sipped her wine and opened one of the soaps that had always been her favorite scent. Musky and a little bit sweet. Namalya took her time washing her body and her hair, and since the water was still warm, she was reluctant to climb out, though she was beginning to wonder where Cullen had gone.

There was a knock on the door in the next moment and she laughed, wondering if she'd summoned him by thought alone. “Come in,” she called and blushed realizing it was not Cullen, but one of the servants from earlier.

“My lady,” she said, and Namalya sat up, staring, her mind not comprehending what she was seeing. The woman carried her burden across the room and set it on the table beside the tub, then she curtseyed and slipped out the door once again.

Yellow flowers. There had to be at least two dozen yellow flowers, different kinds, in varying shades pale to vibrant, but they were all yellow. Tears pricked her eyes and she cautiously reached out to pluck out the small card that was nestled in the bouquet.

 

 

> _The first one I picked because it reminded me of you._
> 
> _Every single one after that was just to see the delight on your face,_
> 
> _to hear the joy in your laughter._
> 
>  
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Cullen_

 

Cullen's handwriting was neat, clean and crisp. She looked at the flowers, then back at the note and she thought she had to be dreaming. He knew. She'd told him what it means to give someone a gift like that. _Yours_.

_Yours_.

Her heart kicked in her chest.

_Yours_.

She heard the door creak open, glanced up and saw Cullen standing there on the precipice, hands in his pockets, just looking at her, waiting. Waiting for her reaction?

_Mine_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a slightly different route then I'd imagined. But only just - Cullen got a bit bolder quicker than I'd anticipated... heh heh heh.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes his move - it gets a bit smutty o.O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm, bold Cullen... he um... is bold still a little awkward, but bold. I have absolutely lost control over the man. Andraste preserve me...

Her mind was racing, trying to catch up. The flowers. All the yellow flowers. They'd been Cullen's doing? But why? And now, this beautiful bouquet, and him just standing there, waiting. “You left all the flowers?” she asked, letting her gaze slide back to him. He had stepped inside, closed the door behind him, but still stayed on the far side of the room. “I told you and now-” she broke off looking back down at the card in her hand, the ink smudged from her damp fingers.

“I meant it when I said you were my best friend, Namalya,” he told her. “I've-” he broke off, rubbed the back of his neck as he ducked his head before he drew in a deep breath and met her gaze again. “I have wanted you for a very long time. I'm not very good at any of this, I've never-” he stopped short again, and if it were possible his face had gone even redder. “Amedee said that she believed you might feel more than just friendship for me, and I hoped- but if not. Please, tell me now. I'll go. We can forget about this, and go back to being just friends.”

Amedee had told him that? Mythal'enaste she barely even realized she might feel more for him, how had Amedee figured it out? “Was that before, or after she kissed you?”

“After,” he told her. “I told her there was someone else and she guessed you. Her kissing me was her way of finding out if I was worthy of you, apparently.”

Namalya wasn't sure how she felt about that information and pushed it from her mind to dwell on later. “You want me?”

Cullen's mouth opened, then closed, and he speared his fingers through his hair. “Yes. All of you. I want to be the one you can come to, no matter what.”

“You already are, Cullen,” she told him. Because Cullen had never judged her, he'd never looked at her as if she were merely a tool. He had consistently told her she was more than just the anchor, more than her titles. “Is that was this was all about?” she asked, gesturing to the tub, the bed, the room in general.

His weight shifted from one foot to the other. “I wanted you to be able to relax, you deserve that. Also, it gave me a chance to take care of you, like you've done for me so often. Will you let me do that?”

Namalya bit her lip, her head feeling a little fuzzy, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the wine or the hot water in the bathtub. “Yes.”

It seemed to take a minute for the word to register in his mind. He stared at her, and then he turned to the dresser, dug through his bag. “Lay on the bed, on your stomach,” he said. “Please?”

Curious to see what he had planned, Namalya carefully climbed out of the tub, wrapped the towel around herself and walked over to the bed. She looked at his back, he'd stopped digging, but hadn't turned around. “Tell me when you're ready,” he told her, turning his head slightly, without looking at her. Ever the gentleman, she thought and then climbed onto the bed.

It was soft and lush and she nearly moaned as she stretched out in the center. She was still wrapped in the towel but had a feeling it wouldn't be there much longer, or at least part of her hoped, another part of her was a little bit afraid. Not of Cullen, but of what she was getting herself into. “Okay,” she told him, tucking her hands under her cheek and she turned her face to watch him.

Cullen turned around and for a few moments he just looked at her, then he crossed to the bed and knelt beside her. “Maker's breath,” he whispered. “Can I-” he cleared his throat. “May I touch you?”

“Yes,” she said and it sounded a little desperate to her own ears.

Then Cullen shifted, tossing one leg over her, he straddled her thighs, without putting any weight on her. “Okay?” he asked and she laughed softly.

“Yes,” she told him again, then sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his fingers tug at the back of the towel, inching it farther down her back. His hand froze before he could ask she answered. “Yes, yes, you're fine! I just- please, continue.” She lifted up enough so that when he dragged the towel down it went easily until it was only covering the curve of her behind.

She heard the pop of a cork and inhaled, then hummed softly. “That's my favorite scent, how did you know?”

“A gift from Amedee,” he supplied and Namalya was certain she'd died and gone to heaven when his warm hands pressed against the small of her back and slowly slid up to her shoulders. She couldn't help the soft moan that escaped as his thumb brushed against the base of her neck.

“I think I'll kiss Amedee the next time I see her,” she murmured and heard Cullen chuckle quietly. She knew he had big hands, but they felt even bigger as they massaged and worked her muscles into putty. The callouses on his hands were the perfect contrast to the silky smooth oil. “I'm fairly certain,” she mumbled quietly. “You've got me beat in the 'taking care of the other' category.”

She felt him lean down, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her back, his lips brushed the edge of the tip of her ear and she shuddered. Namalya's ears had always been particularly sensitive. “You're wrong about that,” he murmured. “And I'm not done with you yet.”

She wasn't sure if that could have been construed as a threat or not. One hand slid up her neck, rubbing along her hairline before he let his hands slide down her arms. When Cullen moved off her she was disappointed, turned her head to look at him, and saw him crouched by her feet. He looked at her, raised his brows and then curled his hand around one ankle and lifted her foot up so he could massage it as well.

Cullen stopped when he reached the edge of the towel that barely covered her bottom. Namalya was a languid mess. She was relaxed and strung tight in the same instant. He moved back over her, straddling her thighs again, his fingers tracing the tattoo on the back of her shoulder. “It's a lioness,” he said quietly. The lines weren't defined, it wasn't realistic, but more abstract.

“It's what my parents have always called me,” she admitted.

“Fierce as a lion,” Cullen said, leaning down to nuzzle the base of her neck. She let out a quiet breath and reached her hand up to tangle in his hair. “It suits you, hunter, protector,” his lips brushed along the edge of her ear. “Passionate.”

“Can I roll over?” she asked him quietly, breathlessly. Cullen went still over her, then pushed up so that she had room to turn. She twisted and looked up to see his gaze focused on hers. Not on her body, not on her breasts that were blatantly on display for him. He stared into her eyes, the corner of his mouth twisting up into that little half smile.

His fingers skimmed over the lines on her forehead and down her nose, making her laugh softly and crinkle her eyes at him. Then his fingers traced the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, coming to rest on her chin. His thumb rubbed over the scar, then up to brush along the edge of her lower lip. “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, voice husky.

Eyes flicking down to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Yes,” he breathed. She expected him to slam his mouth against hers because that was what she would have done, what she ached to do. Tangle her fingers in his hair and drag his mouth to hers, so she could taste his tongue. But his kiss was the softest touch, a barely-there meeting of parted lips. Namalya felt his breath and she inhaled, arching her neck, trying to get closer, but he lifted his head, smirked.

Namalya curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt at his sides. “Maker's breath,” Cullen murmured, lips brushing hers as he spoke. “You are beautiful.” Then, finally, he kissed her. Lips pressed against hers, his hand cupping her neck. His other hand rested beside her head, his fingers toying with her hair, the tip of her ear. Drawing back to look at her again, Namalya looked up at him, breathing raggedly. “Are you sure you want this...? Me?” Cullen asked. “I don't want to push if you don't-”

She reached up and cupped Cullen's cheek, her thumb pressing against his lips. Full lips that she wanted more of. “Cullen,” she murmured, her other hand slipping under the hem of his shirt. “Be quiet and kiss me, would you?”

He didn't hesitate.

Cullen claimed her mouth, tongue delving into stroke against hers. he leaned down, lowering his body, his chest brushing against hers, the fabric of his shirt rasping against her nipples. She let her fingers stroke his abs and he shuddered against her. “Leya,” he breathed her name against her mouth, drew back again, heavy-lidded eyes searching out hers.

“Take off your shirt, Cullen,” she told him.

“Can I? Yeah,” he reared up, tugged the shirt over his head and then he looked down at her and just stared. “Maker,” he swallowed visibly and Namalya took a moment as well. Taking in his muscles, so many of them! Chest hair sparse and golden, then down, down from his belly button, disappearing beneath the waistband of his low slung trousers that did nothing to conceal the prominent bulge.

“Elgar'nan,” she murmured. Namalya ran her hands over his hips, up to his chest, fingertips brushing his nipples. Cullen groaned, then stretched back out over her, claiming her mouth while his hand cupped the heavy weight of one breast. She arched into his touch, curled one hand over his shoulder where she lightly ran her nails across his toned back.

Cullen groaned and pressed closer, his hips pressing against hers, she could feel his cock against her belly. He left a trail of hot kisses down her throat, over the swell of her breast, then his tongue curled around one stiff peak and a soft cry escaped her lips. She'd never thought her breasts particularly sensitive, but when Cullen sucked, while his hand toyed with the other, she considered getting down on her knees to thank the Maker for the man.

Her mind stuttered for a moment, while Cullen whispered sweet words, and lavished more attention on her breasts than they had ever known before. Cullen. This man who was kissing her, touching her, making her body sing, was Cullen. Her best friend. _Too fast_ , she thought, all of it was happening too fast, but her body wasn't willing to stop. He wanted her. She wanted him.

But what if? What if he regretted it? What if he changed his mind? What if it changed everything?

“Leya,” he said softly and heat pooled low in belly at the sound of him saying her name like that. Deep and drawn out. His hand came up to cup her cheek and he pressed his forehead against hers, eyes slipping shut. “We can stop, I don't want to rush this if you're not ready. I-”

“I just don't want to lose my best friend, Cullen,” she told him, her arms curling around him, one hand slipping up the back of his neck to slide into his hair. He arched into the touch, eyes fluttering open.

“You won't,” he vowed and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he rolled off her, to lay on the bed beside her. “No matter what happens,” he told her.

Namalya turned her head to look at him, her breathing slowly returning to normal. The sun was beginning to set, casting a reddish-orange glow in the room, over Cullen. _Mine_ , she thought, staring at the man who couldn't possibly be real. His hand was splayed on her stomach, fingertips resting near the scar she'd gotten from one of the Red Templars before wiping out Haven.

Cullen had scars of his own. She wanted to learn them all. “You're not backing down now, Commander,” she said, swiftly tossing a leg over his waist, so she straddled him, her face near his. “Are you?” She flicked her tongue out, ran it over the scar on his lip. Then she felt his hands curl around her hips, holding her tight as he let her explore his mouth.

“Well,” he mumbled against her lips, groaned when she sunk her teeth into his lower lip. He nipped back and she laughed softly. “I wouldn't want to disappoint the Inquisitor.” He took her onto her back again, her legs immediately curled over his hips, and Cullen groaned his hips rocking against hers. “Maker's breath,” he choked out. “You feel-” he kissed her and she rotated his hips, pulling another moan from him.

“It would feel even better if you took off your trousers,” she suggested.

“Yes,” Cullen breathed, then drew back. “No, Maker's breath. No, not yet. This will be over before it even starts.” He pressed his face into the crook of her neck. “Show me,” he said, pushing up onto his forearms and inching down her body. “Show me what you like,” his heated gaze met hers and she bit her lip.

“Give me your hand,” she told him, fingers curling around his wrist. “I'll show you.”

“No,” Cullen said, brushed a kiss over one breast, then the other. “I want to watch you. Will you let me watch your touch yourself?”

Namalya felt the heat scorch her chest, up her neck to her cheeks. “You want to-” she broke off, his lips were at her belly button now, nuzzling the soft swell of her stomach that for an instant she felt self-conscious about until she felt his tongue swipe along her scar. “Watch?”

“Show me what feels good,” he peered up at her, the towel barely covered her hips, when she'd rolled it had shifted, and all it would take was a small nudge, and she would be completely bare to him. His face, right there. No one had ever put their mouth on her like that. His lips brushed against her hip, tongue snaking out to lick the crease of her thigh.

“Yes!” she practically shouted. Anything. She would do anything for him. So long as he didn't stop touching her.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Oral. Smut. Dirty talking Cullen. Masturbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't actually expecting to be able to get this chapter up so quickly, mainly because I was going to be working every day, except Christmas, until the new year. But, yay, I got my day off, so was able to drink coffee and stay up past my usual bedtime to write. 
> 
> and on that note...
> 
> I... don't know how I feel about this. I don't think I've written anything quite like this before...and I feel... conflicted. I've read way more graphic things(and better written as well), but actually making the words myself... eep!
> 
> *throws smut bomb and runs*

Namalya lay half propped against the pillows, staring down at the man who had settled between her thighs. He'd stopped touching her and just lay there, looking up the length of her body. She was torn between desire and mortification and wondered if her body could spontaneously combust. “Leya,” he breathed her name and oh how she liked when he said her name. The towel still lay draped across her hips, blocking his view. “If you aren't comfortable,” he murmured, one hand skimming along her calf, fingers dipping to graze the back of her knee. “You don't have to, but I want to know, I want to give you pleasure.”

He was going to kill her is what he was going to do. Her thighs trembled slightly from the touch. “I've just never-” she broke off, bit her lip and gripped the edge of the towel. She'd had sex, had never been embarrassed by the idea of it before. But touching herself, something she'd never found much enjoyment in, and allowing Cullen to watch her do it, was something else altogether.

“Neither have I,” he said and then he kissed the inside of her knee, she felt the scratch of stubble and wondered what it would feel like brushing over even more sensitive areas. “Teach me,” he breathed. “I'll be the best student.”

A quiet laugh escaped her. “Didn't you say you weren't always the best student, mind wandering and-” she inhaled sharply as his teeth closed gently over the place he'd just kissed.

“Trust me, my mind doesn't want to be anywhere else at the moment. I am the most dedicated pupil, I will devote all my time and energy to learning and,” he licked, her thighs jerked and the towel shifted, offering him a peek. “Practicing, until you're utterly satisfied.”

Namalya swallowed hard. The man was incorrigible. He kept talking like that and she wouldn't even need to touch herself, she was fairly certain she could come just listening to his voice. Finally, drawing in a breath she tossed the towel aside, watched Cullen's eyes as they went darker, he licked his lips and it gave her the courage to do as he'd asked.

She lifted her hands, watched Cullen's gaze, intense and hawke-like as she let her fingertips slide through her hair, pulling it up off her neck. It slipped through her fingers and she slowly lowered her hands, fingertips skimming over the tips of her ears, then, down her throat, over her chest to cup her breasts. Namalya arched her back, letting her head rest against the headboard, tilting so she could keep her eyes on Cullen.

Catching one nipple between her knuckles, she squeezed, and the pleasure/pain shot a bolt of lust straight through her. All she wanted was more. More of Cullen's fingers absently stroking the back of her knee. To feel his teeth on her thigh, his lips, his tongue. His cock. One hand drifted down, over her stomach and she hesitated when her fingers reached the thatch of hair between her legs.

Cullen's grip on her leg tightened slightly, he shifted just a bit closer and biting down on her lip, she spread her legs wider and dipped her hand down to gather the thick moisture that nearly dripped from her opening. His lips parted, then Namalya spread herself for him. She stroked and teased, her fingertips barely skimming over her clit.

Never had she gotten so worked up touching herself. Before it had always been an unsatisfying means to an end. But now, watching Cullen's reaction, it shed new light on pleasure in her mind. She watched him lick his lips and dipped a finger into her core. Her breathy moan was matched by Cullen's much deeper one. Then she held her hand out, the wet digit a hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

His lips closed around her finger and he sucked, hard. “Oh,” she whimpered, surprised by the heady bliss it caused. Cullen released her finger with a soft pop and she gathered more wetness, but this time stroked up to her clit.

 

“Will you come for me, Leya?” he asked her, voice rough. Color was high on his cheeks, his lips were wet and his grip on her knee only tightened as she nodded her head.

“Touch me,” she pleaded and cried out softly when he shook his head no.

“Come for me first.”

She worked her fingers faster, pinched her nipple harder, desperate for that release that hung just out of reach. “Cullen,” she begged. “Cullen, please.”

“Maker's breath, Leya, you're a beautiful sight,” he told her. “I want to watch you come, I want to taste you, devour you, lap at your-”

Namalya's back arched and she cried out, thighs shaking as the orgasm rolled over her. Then Cullen's mouth was there, licking her fingers, over her core. His arms beneath her thighs, curling around them to hold her still as he was true to his word. She sobbed, one hand clamping over her mouth, the other tangling in his hair as she came again when he sucked her clit between his lips and flicked his tongue over it quickly.

Cullen shifted, tonguing her opening. He let her body calm, but only just. Then his tongue would glide up to her clit. He kept up the sweet torture for what seemed like an eternity, she felt herself close to that edge again, hanging a breath away, when Cullen slipped two fingers inside and concentrated on her clit. All she saw was white as pleasure crashed over her.

Namalya was trembling, gasping and her thighs were clenched tight around his head, her hand fisted in his hair, he thought she might have ripped out a hank, and it had been utterly worth it. He pressed a kiss to her core, then turned his face to kiss her thigh as he tugged at her legs, getting her to release her death grip. He kissed the crease of her thigh, heard her whimper, then her belly button, up to press his lips between her breasts, then finally he claimed her mouth with his.

He felt her hands on his back, fingers digging into muscles as she held onto him. He kissed her again and again as he rolled them onto their sides and reached behind her to drag the blanket around her. Cullen held her against him, enjoying the tremors that raced through her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he closed his eyes and just breathed her in. Maker's breath, he'd been terrified he'd screw up everything. Still was afraid she'd regret it. He could accept her not wanting him, but regret was something else.

“Cullen,” she whispered, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “I can't believe-” she let out a tired laugh. “Elgar'nan, that was -” she clung to him. “Wow.”

A smile turned up the corner of his mouth and he hugged her closer, fingers dancing along her spine. Cullen was not the most experienced, in fact, he had very little, and it definitely hadn't been anything like this. The one woman he'd been within his first weeks in Kirkwall had been a means to an end. An attempt to banish the bitter thoughts and nightmares from Kinloch Hold. It hadn't worked, if anything, it had made things worse.

But this, Namalya's lush body pressed against his, lax and sated was the embodiment of pleasure. “Wow,” she murmured again, shifting and her breasts rubbed against his chest. “I must say, Commander,” she tipped her face back to look up at him, the room now dark, save for the moonlight seeping in through the open curtain. “I never expected your mouth.” She pushed up, brushed her lips against his, her tongue straying along the scar.

She hooked her leg over his hip and Cullen could feel her heat, through his trousers, then she pushed him onto his back. So close to where he wanted to be. If he could just push his waistband down, he skimmed his hands down her sides to rest on the curve of her full hips. “I take it that the Inquisitor is happy with my dedication to learning?”

Namalya laughed against his mouth, one hand slid into his hair and she lifted her head up, met his gaze and sighed softly, her lips turned up into a small smile. “How about I show you just how happy I am?” she pressed a sucking kiss to his throat, while her free hand grazed down his chest, fingertips skipping along his ribs, his stomach to the ties of his pants. Her hand paused, she looked up at him again and Cullen licked his lips.

“Yes,” he told her, then groaned when she began to kiss a trail down his chest, her fingers still playing with the waistband. She licked one of his flat nipples, then gently sunk her teeth into it. Cullen speared one hand through her hair and choked on a groan when she repeated the action with the other nipple.

Her tongue lapped over his belly button as she continued her journey down the length of his body, when she reached the top of his pants he looked down at her, met her gaze and wondered if her heart had raced like his was when he'd been looking up at her. Her fingers curled into the waistband and then she dragged his pants down.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking precum. She sat still, lips parted, eyes locked on his length. Slowly she reached out, fingertips brushing along the head, spreading the wetness there. “Show me,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to his face before they went back to his cock. “Show me how to touch you,” she bit her lip, traced a fingertip down the vein along the underside and Cullen let out a quiet groan.

Payback, he thought, but she wasn't being as cruel as he'd been in his refusal to touch her. Her breasts were pressed against his thighs, and her gaze was so hot it was almost tangible. He slid his hand over his stomach, watched her face as she stared intently. He felt her soft breath as he curled his fist around his aching erection. He began to pump slowly, then shifted one of his legs, bending his knee to draw his thighs apart.

Namalya finished tugging his pants down, tossed them off the bed without taking her eyes off his hand. She knelt there between his legs, her hands resting on her thighs, her breasts heaved with each breath and Cullen knew the exact image he'd picture every time he wrapped his own hand around his cock. Her hair fell just past her shoulders, thoroughly tousled. Her lips were swollen and he could imagine the scratches from his stubble all along her neck.

“You're beautiful,” he said and she jerked slightly, met his gaze. “You look completely ravaged and I just want to do it again, and again.”

“That mouth!” she exclaimed with a bit of a laugh. “Dangerous words, Commander Cullen,” she told him, then keeping her eyes on his, she leaned down slowly, lips growing closer and closer to his pulsing erection. His hand slowed as he watched her lick her lips.

“Leya,” her name came out a groan and she smirked before her tongue slipped out to lap over the head of his cock. Cullen's head punched back and he clenched his eyes shut, desperately struggling to hold onto control. He tightened his grip on his cock, almost painfully so to try and stave off the fast approaching orgasm.

“I think I can take it from here,” she murmured, her fingers curling over Cullen's. He let his hand fall away and looked back down at her as she began to slowly stroke him, her grip loose. The touch was teasing, torture. When she ran her tongue over the head again her name was a shout. She paused, then wrapped her lips around him, tongue swirling as she sucked.

Cullen whimpered, one hand tangling in her hair while the other curled in the blankets. “Leya, Leya, Leya,” he pleaded her name.

She lifted her head and he made a sound of protest at the loss of her hot mouth on him. “Tell me, use that wicked mouth of yours, Commander Cullen. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Tighter, harder, fuck-” he groaned and saw her brows pop up before she grinned and ran his tongue from base to tip, where she wrapped her lips and fingers around him again, this time her grip firmer. She began to stroke again and he was in heaven. Or maybe it was hell. “Yes,” he told her. “Like that,” he groaned, eyes falling shut. He wanted to watch her, watch the way her lips stretched around his cock. “Your other hand,” he managed to get out. Felt his own cheeks flame as the words tumbled from his mouth. “On my balls.”

He knew how ridiculous it was to be embarrassed at this point, the things he'd said to her earlier, the fact that he'd had his face buried between her thighs and she currently was sucking his cock. Her hand slid up between his legs, warm, soft fingers curled around his balls, stroked the weight of them and Cullen knew he was done for. “Leya,” he gasped, hand tightening in her hair. “I'm going to-” he groaned. “Going to come, Leya,” he cursed softly, tugged at her hair, but she didn't let up. She took him deeper into her mouth and Cullen felt his eyes cross.

Balls tightening he lifted his head, met her gaze once more and he couldn't breathe as the orgasm punched through him. Her first tightened around him and he could feel her swallowing, tongue lapping. Come slipped past her lips, over her fingers. It was too much, too much sensation, he ached and he wanted her to stop, but he wanted her to keep licking. He covered her hand with his, cupped her chin with the other. “Come here,” he rasped and she crawled up his body. Cullen wrapped one arm around her waist, the other cupped the back of her neck so he could kiss her. He tasted himself on her tongue and hoped it hadn't been too unpleasant for her. “Andraste preserve me, Leya,” he mumbled against her mouth, still trying to catch his breath.

She wiggled, trying to roll off him. “I'm too heavy,” she told him, and he tightened his hold.

“No you aren't,” he told her, kissed her again but relented and rolled onto his side with her tucked against him.

“Was it good?” she asked, pressing kisses against his collarbone.

“I'll let you know when my brain and lungs are working again,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “Maker, Leya,” he continued. “That was the most amazing-” he broke off, cupped her chin and kissed her soundly because if he kept talking, he was afraid he'd tell her he loved her. Knew that the words were on the tip of his tongue. She hummed softly against his mouth and Cullen sent up a silent thank you to the Maker, to the Elven gods, to anyone that might hear him, for giving him a chance with Namalya.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do know I feel like I lost my grip on Cullen at some point. damn it.


	16. Chapter 16

Cullen woke up freezing. He blinked through the haze of sleep and looked down at the woman in his arms. She was curled up against him, her head tucked under his chin, with all the blankets wrapped around her. He smiled and carefully extracted himself from the bed. The fire had burnt out at some point while they slept so he padded across the room to restart it. Finding his trousers on the floor, he tugged them on before crouching beside the fireplace.

“Cullen?” Namalya's voice was hoarse and he heard the blankets shifting. “Cullen?” his name came broken from her lips.

He quickly strode back across the room. “I'm here,” he told her, crawling back onto the bed. “The fire went out,” he explained. “What's wrong?” He helped her untangle limbs from the blanket and leaned against the headboard. Immediately she crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs she pressed close to him, her arms going around his waist.

Reaching for one of the blankets, he drew it up around her shoulders, before he wrapped his arms around her. “Bad dream?” he asked and she shook her head.

“You weren't there, I woke up and-” she broke off. “I wasn't sure if it had been a dream or if-” she looked up at him, and Cullen pushed her hair back from her face. “Do you regret it?” she asked and Cullen stared at her for several moments as his mind raced. He couldn't tell her that he was in love with her. Not now, not yet.

“Regret it? How could I? Namalya, Leya,” he took her face between his hands, stared into her eyes. “Duty has always come first for me, every step of my life. Joining the Templars, my training, Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, then the Inquisition. Never have I allowed myself to... _want,”_ he breathed the final word. “Unexpectedly, you have become the most important person in my life. You have been a truer friend, shown such remarkable strength through everything. You have sacrificed and asked for nothing in return.”

Cullen skimmed his thumb along the markings on her cheek. “You are my best friend, you trusted me, allowed me to-” he felt the heat on his cheeks. “I could never regret this, or you.”

Tears burned the backs of Namalya's eyes as she stared up at him. “Do you?” he asked, voice tentative. “I was afraid to do this, to risk chasing you off. To lose you-”

Namalya slid her hands over his chest, up his neck, and into his hair. She cupped the back of his head as she pushed up closer to him, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Ma vheraan vhenan,” she murmured against his lips. “It will take a lot more to chase me away.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, met his gaze. “No, Cullen, I don't regret it. You've been a pillar of strength for me. You courted me,” she glanced at the big bouquet of flowers. The incredibly beautiful flowers. “If you think I'd let you go now, you'd be mistaken.”

He kissed her, hard and searing and she moaned, then laughed softly when she found herself on her back, her head now at the foot of the bed. She curled her legs around his waist and pouted when she realized he'd put his pants back on. “Cullen,” she jutted out her lower lip, felt him sink his teeth into it. Namalya retaliated by scratching her nails down his back, she felt him press his hips more firmly against hers, felt his cock against her core and she whimpered quietly.

When his lips closed around her nipple, while one hand slid down to the small of her back, lifting her hips up as he rocked against her again. “Isalan ma gara suin em,” her voice was breathy, desperate.

Cullen lifted his head, lips damp and parted. “What does that mean?” he asked, voice a husky whisper.

Namalya lifted her head, trailed her lips along his ear, he arched into the touch and she heard him groan. “I want you to come into me,” she told him, tongue snaking out to curl around his earlobe before she closed her teeth on it carefully.

His hips bucked, and he let out a rasped curse, he took her mouth again with his, hard and demanding while one hand dipped between her legs, where he found her wet and wanting. He pushed one finger inside, while his thumb found her clit. Thighs clenching around his hips she arched, a cry escaping when he pushed another finger inside.

“You're so wet,” he mumbled, kissed along her jaw to her ear. His tongue ran along the shell and she cried out again, her inner walls tightening around the two thick digits. “You feel so good, I can't wait to feel you around my cock.” Cullen flicked her clit and she gasped. “But first, I need you to come for me, Maker's breath, Leya, I know I won't last. Just thinking about how you feel-” he groaned, he bit the tip of her ear and she cried out as she came around his fingers. “Yes, yes, love, just like that,” he praised her, fingers drawing out her orgasm, then gently petting her as the quaking of her inner walls subsided.

Her breathing was ragged and she clung to his arms, fingers digging into the solid muscles of his biceps. “Cullen,” she moaned, eyes fluttering. “Please,” she begged, then let out a soft sigh at the loss of his fingers. Cullen reared up, quickly shed his trousers, before sinking back between her thighs, Namalya curled one over his hip, while her the other fell against the bed. The feel of his cock, so thick and hard rubbing against her core made her heart skip a beat.

The man was quite well-endowed and she wanted him inside her. “Leya,” he said, resting his elbow beside her head, his other hand cupping her chin. “Look at me,” he murmured and she met his gaze, heated and heavy-lidded. Her lips parted, tongue flicking out over his fingers as he traced over them, then let his fingertips graze down her throat, she arched but didn't break their eye contact. His hand continued down, between her breasts, over her stomach, through the curls between her legs, he dipped between her lower lips, then his hand was gone, and she felt the head of his cock there, rubbing, spreading the wetness, up to her clit, along his length, and then he was back at her opening,

All the while, they stared into each other's eyes. “Isalan hima sa i'na. Gara suin em,” she murmured, nails digging into his shoulders. “Come into me, Cullen. I need to feel you inside me.” She sucked in a sharp breath when he began to push inside, stretching her, not unpleasantly so, but he froze. “Don't stop! Fenedhis, please! Cullen! Don't stop!”

“Maker,” he choked out as he began to move again, his hand going to grip her hip as he slid inside. Her name became a soft chant as he slid in, to the hilt. “Leya, Leya,” he murmured again and again. Nothing had ever felt so good. Cullen felt hyper-aware in that moment, the soft flesh of her thigh against his hip, the wet heat wrapped around his cock, and her eyes. The pale blue ring almost vanishing completely. She was murmuring a mix of Elven and common tongue, begging and praise. Her nails a sharp bite on his shoulders, he imagined he'd wear that mark for days, and would gladly bear any other mark she chose to bestow.

Lowering his head, he kissed her, soft this time, lips meeting gently before Cullen began to move his hips slowly. He hadn't lied before, he knew that it wouldn't take long for him to come, and he wanted desperately for her to enjoy it. This was Heaven, he thought. When death finally claimed him, this is what Heaven would be. Namalya's body, soft and sensuous, wrapped around him. She shifted her leg higher, tilting her pelvis and he swore he slipped deeper on the next thrust, she arched, gasped his name and Cullen's slid his hand down to grip her thigh, inching it higher.

“There!” she cried. “Cullen!” Her nails raked over his shoulders, her head tossed back against the bed, nearly hanging off the foot of it. He felt his end coming quickly, began to move faster, his thrusting harder. More Elven spilled from her lips. “ _Vhenan_.”

Cullen released her thigh, slid his hand between them and found her clit. The tightening of her core around his cock was all it took. “Leya!” he shouted, his hips bucking as he drove himself deeper, desperate for more of her. His cock pulsed as release rushed over him, though him. He burrowed his face in the crook of her neck, hips still faintly rocking until there was nothing left.

His mind was awash with her. The scent of her skin, the feel of her body, her hair against his cheek, her fingers stroking over the sweat-damp skin of his back. He could feel her pulse, fluttering rapidly against his lips. Cullen knew he was too heavy to lay over her like he was, but he'd lost all his strength, barely even breathe. As if she seemed to sense his thoughts, she tightened her hold on him.

“You're fine,” she managed out, sounding as breathless as he felt, though, it might have something to do with his weight on her. He forced himself to move, hissed quietly at the feel of the cold air in the room hitting his sensitive cock. He collapsed on the bed at her side and dragged her with him.

“Leya,” he breathed, it seeming to be the only word he could form. “Leya,” he murmured again. She kissed his collarbone, arms and legs curling around him, soft Elven words carrying him off to sleep.

 

Namalya woke up, hot and aching, her entire body so lax she wasn't sure she could move, but her bladder had its own opinion on the matter. She and Cullen were barely even still on the bed and she was careful not to disturb him as she broke free of his grasp. Her legs were a little unsteady and her thighs were sticky with their release. She visited the chamber pot and tossed another log on the fire. The sun was filtering into the room now, and she thought it had to be late morning now. She found Cullen's tunic and tugged it over her head, it was tight across her breasts but fell almost all the way to her knees.

Plucking one of the flowers from her bouquet she sniffed it, smiled, and turned back to the bed. Cullen was awake, eyes locked on her. “You're beautiful,” he told her, voice rough.

“As are you, Commander,” she told him, then laughed quietly as his face scrunched up in distaste. He rolled out of the bed, went to the small closet that held the chamber pot and she felt her cheeks heat when he stepped out, beautifully naked. Cullen crossed to her, took her face between his hands and kissed her before he rested his forehead against hers. “You'll get a kink in your neck for stooping like that,” she commented, hands resting on his sides.

“I happen to know the most amazing woman, who gives brilliant massages, so I think I'll risk it,” he kissed her again, his hands sliding down to her hips, he lifted her, and she gasped quietly, legs curling around his hips. “Or,” he said. “I'll do this.” He held her easily and she pressed a kiss to his lips, rubbed her nose against his.

“Quick thinker,” she murmured before she lightly trailed the flower's delicate petals from his temple to his jaw. Cullen carried her to the tousled bed, tumbled her onto it, and peppered kisses all across her cheeks and throat until she was giggling and squirming beneath him.

She wanted him again and there was no denying his desire, as it pressed hard against her thigh. A knock on the door had them stilling. “Who is it?” she called.

“Breakfast sent up for the newlyweds!” A woman called from the other side and Namalya's brow furrowed. Cullen had frozen, he ducked his head and climbed off the bed. She watched, confused as he found his trousers, dragged them on and went to the door. Namalya stared at his back, took in the red welts she'd left with her nails all across his shoulders.

The woman from the night before ducked in with a large tray of food, mostly cheese and what looked like cut up pieces of meat. She deposited the tray on the table and the other woman brought in a steaming pot of what Namalya suspected was tea. Then they were gone.

 

Cullen closed the door and didn't turn around, his forehead pressing against the wood. “Newlyweds?” she asked. He lifted his head, met her gaze, wasn't sure what he expected. Anger? Disgust? But the corner of her mouth was quirked up into a slight grin. “Care to explain, Commander?” He rubbed his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath.

“I-” He didn't know what to say. Really, there had been no need for the lie. Cullen watched her slide off the bed, and saunter toward him. “You're beautiful,” he whispered, taken aback by her. Seeing her wearing his shirt was a sight he could get used to, wanted to see every morning.

“Nice try,” she told him. “Husband?”

He opened his mouth, snapped it shut. The word was an arrow straight through his heart. What he wouldn't give for it to be real. “I had hoped that it would grant us some privacy and help in my endeavor to pamper you,” he admitted.

“So, these people here, they think we're married?” she asked, then after a beat. “They don't know who we really are,” she said with realization.

“No,” he told her. “That was the only reason I said it. I hadn't been sure what you felt if this would all just explode in my face or-”

Namalya still held the flower in her hand and now she stood in front of him. “Impossible man,” she murmured, reached up to his shoulder and tugged, until he leaned down to kiss her. “ _My_ impossible man.”

Cullen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his eyes slid shut and he cupped the back of her head. “You're not angry?”

“No,” she told him, kissing him again. “No,” she repeated. “But, I am starving, come feed your wife.” She spun on her toes and headed for the table. Cullen stared, liked the sway of her hips as she walked and thought she might be exaggerating it on purpose when she glanced over her shoulder at him and raised her eyebrows.

_Wife_ , he thought. It was just pretend, and only until they left this small town. But maybe, if he played his cards right, he'd get to make it a reality some day. Namalya stood beside the table crooked a finger at him. He obeyed the silent command and made his way over to her, let her nudge him into the chair, and happily slid his arms around her waist when she settled into his lap. He watched her twist to pour the steaming tea into a mug, she inhaled, eyes sliding shut and took a sip. “Hmm,” she murmured, then held the mug out to him. He turned the mug, drinking from the same place her lips had touched.

Then they fed each other, bites of cheese and pieces of fruit and meat. He wondered if this was what it would be like, being married to her, but banished the thought, or tried to. They had the Inquisition, so many important things to take care of. What would her people think? Her clan had liked him well enough, but would they accept him as a part of her life?

Cullen shook his head. _No_ , he told himself. He couldn't rush this and just because she had laughed it off, accepted it, didn't mean she wanted it in reality.

“What are you arguing about?” she asked, fingers trailing along his jaw.

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Namalya leaned in to kiss him softly. “Whatever is running through your head right now, stop it,” it was a gentle command. “Until we leave this room, there is nothing besides the two of us.” She shifted closer to him and he felt his erection respond instantly to the feel of her so close, her breasts pressing into his chest. “I know we need to go back, but just a few more hours, please?” she asked, rocking her hips.

“That is coercion,” he mumbled when she slipped her hand under his waistband to free his cock. “I give you free reign to use it at any time-” he broke off with a hiss as she lowered herself onto him. His head fell back, and his hands went to her hips, holding them tight. She'd have bruises, he thought. “Tomorrow,” he told her and groaned as she began to roll her hips. He helped her move, knowing her feet barely reached the floor, making it hard for her to gain a rhythm. “We'll leave for Jader in the morning,” he said, thumb slipping between them to circle her clit.

Namalya's feet found the rungs on the bottom of the chair, and she pressed against them, using them for balance as she began to move over him easier. All that wife/husband business hadn't turned her off the way she'd expected it to. It wasn't that she didn't believe in marriage or love, but for her, it was something she'd never truly wanted. Not that she loved Cullen, she adored him, he was her best friend, and now, her lover. She rotated her hips, his thumb working her clit faster. “Oh,” she breathed out, hands curling around his shoulders.

Her thighs ached and it was hard to keep up the rolling thrusts, but it felt so good. Cullen leaned into her ear, words of praise filling her head. She hadn't expected him to be so vocal, to have such a filthy mouth. Namalya definitely hadn't imagined liking that sort of thing. But as he whispered to her about feeling her come around him, how much he liked the way she gripped him, the way her thighs felt, covered in his come, slick and sticky. That he wanted to put his mouth on her again, tongue her pussy until she screamed. She nearly did scream, her head fell back and she shouted to the heavens as she came. His hands cupped her ass, held it as he drove his hips up into her harder, just a handful of short, fast, thrusts before he groaned, and she felt him pulse inside of her.

Cullen slid his arms around her waist, hugging her close and she mirrored him, her arms around his shoulders. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest and feel their combined lust slipping from her body around his softening cock as it too slid from her. She sighed softly at the loss.

They stayed there for a time, just holding one another before they began picking at the tray of food again. Eventually, they returned to the bed, and Cullen made good on his earlier promise and settled between her thighs where he teased her with tongue and fingers until she was begging. He kept her on that edge, not letting her fall until he moved up over her and pushed inside. Her teeth sunk into his shoulder as she tried not to scream. Fake newlyweds or not, she didn't want the entire tavern knowing her business.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part isn't very long and I hate it, but that could just be my mood. My brain is struggling to get from point A to point B(in which there is Drama).

When the sun began to creep over the horizon the next morning, Cullen was busy using one of the flowers to trace the lines of yellow ink over Namalya's arm, her hip, the curve of her thigh. He noticed a hickey on the inside of her thigh and couldn't help but smirk. They had marked each other in their own ways over the last two days.

“What are you smirking about,” she asked, lifting one foot to rub her toes over his shoulder. His smirk disappeared and he licked his lips.

“This,” he told her, fingertips grazing over her sex. She gasped, thighs twitched and her fingers slid into his hair. Then he pressed his lips to her other thigh, about the same spot and gently sunk his teeth into her flesh before sucking hard. Satisfied with the darkening mark he moved up the length of her body, kissing every inch until he reached her lips.

She made a quiet sound as he slipped inside her. Namalya found one of his hands and laced their fingers together, then Cullen caught her other one and repeated the gesture. He slid her hands up so that they were beside her head as he kept his movements slow, steady and unhurried. They needed to leave for Jader, it was past time for them to return to Skyhold, but Cullen couldn't help but wish for just a bit more time with her alone.

They hadn't discussed what would happen when they returned. He knew what he wanted, but he was almost afraid to hope for it. This was a stolen moment in time for them before they returned to the reality of war. She squeezed his hands, “hey,” she murmured. “Come back to me,” she told him, brow furrowing. He kissed her, a soft meeting of mouths.

 

It was hours later when they finally disentangled themselves from each other and packed up their belongings. Some of Namalya's flowers had been mangled, mostly because Cullen had liked trailing them along her body. She braided one into her hair and the others she carefully pressed into her leather journal. She glanced in the mirror, caught sight of Cullen and watched him.

A part of her was still unable to process what had happened. He'd left the flowers for her all those months. A few times she had wondered if maybe he'd wanted something more than friendship, but she'd always chalked it up to her imagination and ignored it. What if she hadn't? She wondered. How different could things have been? And what now? What did it all mean now? Were they a couple? Could she call him her boyfriend? The word didn't seem to fit, for some reason.

Cullen was her lover, her best friend and so much more. He turned, met her gaze in the mirror and smiled at her, golden eyes sparkling. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

_No_ , she wanted to say. _No, I want to stay here with you._ “Yes,” she told him, turning away from the mirror and met him at the door. Namalya tipped her face up to his and without a word Cullen leaned down and brushed a kiss over her lips, then, since he insisted on carrying the bags again, she opened the door for him.

They made their way downstairs, and Namalya couldn't help the blush that tinged her cheeks seeing the man and one of the women who had brought first the bathwater and then the flowers, and the food. “Thank you,” she told them. “Ma Serannas.”

Their journey back to Skyhold was uneventful, save for the nights they spent in each other's arms. Cullen had genuinely not been able to remember a time where he'd been happier, more content. Namalya hadn't been put off by his nightmares. But a part of him was waiting for her to put an end to it all. To tell him that she had only wanted sex, or that dealing with him, his problems was too much and she couldn't do it any longer. He wouldn't blame her, and he knew he couldn't even be angry about it.

 

Every morning when she kissed him softly, hugged him, he felt he was granted a reprieve from misery. But now that they had arrived back at Skyhold, he didn't know what to expect. There had been little fanfare with their return, Cullen had his own duties to attend to, and Namalya had gone with Josephine and Leliana to brief them on all that had happened with her clan.

He hadn't seen her all day. Cullen thought it was silly to miss her. But after having spent so long in her near constant company, he missed her. The day dragged on, he read through missives, found a letter from Mia, set it aside to remind himself to write to her.

The urge to seek her out was strong, practically a compulsion. But he resisted. She had things to do. She knew where to find him if she were so inclined. He ate dinner and thought of going back to his office to read through more of the reports, figure out what needed to be put before Namalya and what was minor enough that he could have it taken care of. Walked the ramparts, stopped at the corner that they had claimed as their space, and it would have been a lie if he'd said he wasn't hoping to find Namalya there.

He stayed there for a while, hoping. But she didn't come. He stared up at the stars, hoping for some answer, and was greeted with only silence. Resigning to return to his office he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, thought of the yellow flowers that were in the garden. Maybe he could go get one, take it to her- he cut off the thought and yanked open the door to his office.

He heard a quiet squeak and his eyes widened when he saw Namalya. She was standing by the ladder, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed quietly. “You're- I thought maybe,” she glanced up the ladder. “I thought you might have already gone to bed. I didn't want to intrude.”

They stared at each other for several heartbeats and then Cullen slammed the door shut behind him and crossed to her in three long strides, and slanted his mouth over hers. She moaned, arms immediately curling around his shoulders, his hands went to her thighs and he lifted her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Another step and her back was against the wall. “I missed you,” he admitted with a groan. “I wasn't sure-”

“You said you were mine,” she told him, her hands tangling in his hair. “You're mine.”

Cullen let out another groan, slid one hand into her hair, it hung loose and he wrapped his fist around it. “And you?” he asked, tugging her head back a bit. “Are you mine?”

A lone candle burned in the room, on his desk, behind him, so Namalya was in shadow, but he saw her pupils dilate. Then she bit his lower lip. “Yes,” she told him, voice breathless. Cullen claimed her mouth again, his heart pounding in his chest. It was more than he could have hoped for. The relief was nearly overwhelming.

They finally broke apart, desperate to breathe, and Cullen pressed his forehead to hers and was so grateful.

 

They'd only been back a few days before Namalya had to leave for Crestwood, to meet up with Hawke and the Grey Warden. “I'll be back in no time,” she murmured. They were in the War Room, Namalya perched on the edge of the War Table, while Cullen stood between her knees, his hands on her hips.

“You'll be careful,” it wasn't so much a request as a demand.

“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile. “I would hate to disappoint my Commander.”

He caught her chin, thumbed the scar and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gives Namalya more insight into his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote smut to keep warm on this miserably cold day (-26 F or -32C), my car was frozen solid, so I couldn't go to work.

Namalya had returned from Crestwood several hours earlier, but Cullen hadn't seen her since. She had vanished up to her quarters. “She had a hot bath sent up,” one of the servants informed him.

“Thank you,” he said and headed for the door to her private quarters. “Leya?” he called softly, not wanting to wake her if she had fallen asleep.

“It's about time,” she said and he stepped into the room, found her reclining in the large tub in front of the fireplace. Her head resting on the back of the tub, eyes closed. “No more corpses. I refuse. First the Fallow Mire and then Crestwood. I'm done. If I have to fight off another reanimated dead-”

Cullen cut off her words with a kiss. He leaned down, hands braced on either side of the tub and claimed her mouth with his. She sighed against his mouth and a wet hand slid into his hair. “Maker, I missed you,” he mumbled against her lips.

Namalya grinned against his lips. “I missed you too, Commander. I'm still not fighting any more corpses.”

Cullen chuckled softly and drew back, sitting on the edge of the tub. “Aside from the corpses, how was Crestwood? You met with Hawke and his associate?”

“Yes, Alistair Therin.” She leaned back in the tub again, soap suds clinging to the swell of her breasts, and Cullen wanted little more than to climb into that bathtub with her and stake some sort of claim on her.

“I met Alistair back during the Fifth Blight, along with the Hero of Ferelden.”

“You did?” She leaned forward again, breasts rising from the water. “You could join me,” she said and he tore his eyes away from her chest to meet her gaze. Namalya was smirking at him, one brow raised. “I want to hear more about meeting the Hero of Ferelden. So, Commander, strip, and get in this tub with me while the water is still warm.”

He shouldn't. Really. He had things to do, he'd just wanted to see her. But he couldn't resist her, couldn't deny her anything. Cullen stood up and began to strip, he noticed the way Namalya watched his every move, and he liked the heat in her gaze, so he went slower, took his time releasing the straps of his chest piece. The pile of clothes on the foot of her bed grew until he stood before her wearing only his trousers.

“You're a tease,” she told him when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and paused, watching her. Namalya bit her lip, she had leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand on the edge of the tub, blocking his view of her chest.

“You like it,” he said, pushed his pants down and crossed to the tub. “Scoot forward,” he told her and she did, allowing him the space to slide in behind her. The water nearly sloshed over, but it calmed as Namalya leaned back against Cullen's chest. He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, slipped one arm around her waist under the water, while the other traced along her collarbone.

They sat together for several minutes in silence, Namalya closed her eyes, head rested against his shoulder. “Tell me,” she murmured. “About Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden.”

“I met them briefly when they came to Kinloch Hold, with the Grey Warden treaties. But they had arrived too late, the tower had already fallen. Blood mages, abominations,” he closed his eyes, pressed his face into her hair that she had pinned up off her neck. “I was not kind to them and for a time I wished they had killed me.”

Namalya inhaled sharply, her hand finding his, gripping it tightly. “It must have been truly horrible,” she murmured.

“It was- I-” he broke off, he'd thought it would be easier to tell her the worst things if he didn't have to look her in the eye, but he realized he needed to see her eyes. Needed to see her reaction to what kind of man he'd been. “Leya, turn around, please,” he asked softly.

She moved cautiously, so as not to upset the water, turned so that she straddled his thighs, chests pressed together, she met his gaze and he simply stared at her for several long moments, part of him afraid that once he confessed everything, she'd hate him. Cullen reached up and cupped her cheek, kissed her softly and let his eyes slip shut when she rested her forehead against his. “You can tell me anything,” she murmured softly, her hands sliding along his shoulders.

Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he met her gaze again. “I was young when I was at Kinloch Hold, my first posting. Being a Templar was all I had wanted for as long as I could remember. It wasn't quite what I'd imagined it to be. I wanted to protect people, help them. But the reality was much more brutal.”

She reached up, stroked her fingers through his hair and he leaned into the touch. “The Mage-Templar war was a long time coming,” he murmured. “There was a woman, a mage, Amell,” he sighed softly. “Solona. She was kind, despite her years in the circle and her treatment. I was there when she went through her Harrowing, it was remarkable, how well she did. Everyone was impressed. When the rebellion first began within Kinloch Hold, she stood between the mages and the Templars. Tried in vain to calm tempers. I don't know who struck the killing blow. She had injuries from both magic and blade.”

“You cared about her,” Namalya murmured quietly, with a softness in her eyes.

“I did,” he admitted. He hadn't spoken those words to anyone. If mention of her came up, he knew her, but that was where he left it. “She was so kind, sweet. She made the best of her situation. A desire demon tortured me, tempted me, used her as the bait. So many times I nearly caved, nearly gave in.” He gripped her sides, fingers digging into soft flesh. He cursed softly, smoothed his hands over the red marks. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I was made to watch them slaughter my fellow Templars.”

She stroked her hands along his shoulders, rubbing, easing some of the tension. Cullen stared hard at Namalya's collarbone, the smattering of freckles that spread over her shoulders. “I was sent to Kirkwall after that, I turned a blind eye, I-” he swallowed, looked into her eyes. “I can say I never physically harmed a mage, but I treated them very unfairly. I silenced more than one on many occasions, which, I suppose hurt them in more ways. I believed every single mage was just a breath away from becoming an abomination.

“Hawke's sister, Bethany, is a mage, there were whispers from the moment they arrived, but he was favored in Kirkwall. All I saw was a potential blood mage. I'm certain Hawke will never forgive me for taking his sister to the Circle. The first chance I had, knowing that he'd gone to the Deep Roads on some mission, she was out of his reach and I saw that she was locked away in the tower.”

“Oh, Cullen,” she whispered.

“I let so much go unquestioned because I believed it was the right thing to do because I couldn't bring myself to trust a single mage. Mages disappeared, were made Tranquil, were... harmed, all while I turned a blind eye to it. For the greater good, I thought.” Cullen clenched his eyes shut, dropped his forehead against her shoulder, and thank the Maker, she didn't push him away. Her fingers rubbed along the back of his neck softly.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, pressing her face against the back of his head. "Bethany, the other mages?”

Lifting his head up he looked at her, saw there were tears in her eyes, and he felt his own burn. “Yes,” he rasped out past the lump in his throat. “Maker, Namalya, _yes._ Every day I regret my choices.”

“You made the right decision, in the end,” she told him, cupped his face between her damp hands. “You turned against Meredith, fought by Hawke's side. You've learned to trust mages, like Dorian, a Tevinter no less.” He leaned his head into her touch. “Not every single mage is going to turn into an Abomination.”

“There is no excuse for my actions-”

“You were tortured, ma vheraan vhenan,” Namalya pressed her forehead against his, met his gaze while she rested her hand over his heart, she could feel the scars on his flesh. Had kissed the scars, traced them with fingers and lips. “You regret the harm you did, the mistakes-”

“They were far worse than just mistakes-”

Namalya pressed her fingers to his lips. “Hush,” she murmured. “You regret, you feel remorse, you try and you do better every day. I admire you, Cullen. I admire your strength and resilience. You've kept fighting, for yourself, for the other Templars, to free them from their lyrium chains. You fight to protect the mages, from others, as well as themselves. Do you still see Tranquility as a solution to all mages problems?”

“Maker, no,” he hissed.

She kissed him, soft and slow. “Did you expect me to hate you? To punish you for the torment you've already been through?”

“Honestly?” he said quietly.

“Oh, vhenan,” Namalya's chest felt tight. She hadn't realized, hadn't known how much he was punishing himself. “I adore you,” she murmured. “You are-” he had become one of the most important people in her life. She loved him, but to say that now, it wasn't right, she couldn't. Because it wasn't the love he'd think she meant. So instead, she kissed him. His arms slid around her waist and he clutched her close. “Isalan ma gara suin, em juveran na su tarasyl,” _I want you to come into me, and I will take you to the sky._

He didn't even question her words any longer, he often sussed out the meaning by her tone. She deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue against his while she rocked her hips, felt his length harden with the motions. One of Cullen's hands slid down over her behind, dipping between her legs from behind, he stroked over her core, through her curls. “In me,” she breathed. “I need you-” Namalya curled her fist around his cock and impaled herself on his length. The water sloshed over the edge of the tub with the motion, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

Cullen kept kissing her, she felt light-headed, couldn't breathe, and she didn't care. He gripped her hips, though he left her in complete control of the pace, the rocking of her hips. Finally, when she thought she might die, she tore her mouth from his with a gasp, then Cullen' wrapped his fist around her hair, tugged, not hard, but just enough. His teeth sunk into her throat, then laved over the bite with his tongue, sucking and she began to move faster.

He'd leave a mark and she didn't care. Let them all know, they were each other. She dug her nails harder into his back, heard him groan. “Leya,” it was a desperate whisper, pleading.

“Come for me, ma vheraan vhenan.”

“You first,” he rasped, his hand slid from her hip between them, fingers expertly finding her clit. She jerked her hips, felt him slide deeper, hitting just the right spot.

But no, not yet. She slid her hand down, caught his, laced their fingers together. “Cullen,” she moaned softly against his ear. “Come inside me,” she ran her tongue along the shell of it, felt him shudder, and then, despite the flush on her cheeks that had more to do with her words, than her exertions, she begged him to come. “I want to watch you come, I want to feel your cock pulse so deep inside me, ma ane'eth'i em,” _you are safe with me_. “Cullen, please,” her voice broke and she lifted her head, met his gaze and watched the pleasure wash over him. He bucked beneath her, fingers bruising as he held her tight. More water spilled over and onto the floor.

“Leya! Fuck!” His fingers found her clit again and this time she let him, it took only a few strokes, frantic seconds and she let her head fall back as she came.

 

Sometime later, as she leaned against him in the now cold water, unable to move, she imagined if there had been any doubt about her and Cullen's relationship before, there was none now. “You still alive, Commander?”

He grunted and she grinned before laving a sucking kiss at the base of his throat, drawing a quiet groan from him. “Full of surprises,” he murmured, lifting his head, tugging her head back with a gentle pull of her hair. “That mouth,” he said, stroked his thumb over her lower lip.

“Rivaled only by yours, my dear Commander,” she closed her teeth around his thumb, heard him groan before she sucked on it. He groaned louder.

“Maker's breath, Leya.” It was mid-day, the doors to her balconies were all thrown open wide, the main hall was full of people.

“Embarrassed?” she asked, imagining where his mind had gone. She told herself she wouldn't be upset if he was, though she knew it was a lie.

Cullen trailed his thumb along the mark he'd left on her throat. “If I had the strength, I would prove to you just how not embarrassed I am.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That's all this chapter is. Smut. Cullen may have some thoughts at the beginning, but, it's smut.
> 
> I swear, there is plot to be had still. I'm getting there. Things just had to happen first.

Preparations were being made for their departure to Halamshiral. Cullen was not looking forward to it. Dread was more fitting a word for what he was currently feeling. He sat at his desk, staring down at paperwork that was all beginning to blur together. He didn't like the game, didn't like the idea of Leya having to play the game. He had absolute faith in her, but still, he worried. If anything happened to her...

He shook his head, willing away the somber thought. Leya was brave and strong. Maker, she was amazing. He thought of the night before when his head had pained him so greatly he'd crawled into his bed early in the afternoon and slept for hours. Then late in the evening, Leya had found him, helped him strip, and then laid him out in the bed on his stomach and proceeded to give him the best massage he'd ever had.

Small hands, but strong, had kneaded the muscles of his back, his shoulders, arms, and legs. Namalya had murmured quiet stories as she worked, speaking in a mix of Dalish and common, the cadence of her voice easing his weary mind. It was a miracle, he thought, that she didn't hate him. He'd confessed his sins, the darkest parts of him and his most terrible deeds, and still, she hadn't looked at him like he were a monster.

Cullen loved her. It was a terrifying thought. Love, actual love. It had started as infatuation, he'd admired her resilience, it had become a friendship that had become so integral to him, that he believed he'd be lost without her. He would survive, yes. Could live without the woman if it came to that, but he never wanted it to.

The door flew open suddenly, then was slammed shut again, hard, he heard the lock tumble and his brows rose as he looked at Namalya standing there, back pressed to the door, a wild look in her eye. “Keep them away from me,” she said, voice sounding desperate.

“Who?” he asked, confused. He pushed to his feet, he'd never seen that look in her eyes before. It was terrifying. “Ley-”

“Those-those horrible people from Val Royeaux!”

“Maker's breath,” Cullen sighed. “What did they do? Did they say something?” He wouldn't stand for that, couldn't believe that Josephine or Leliana hadn't ended them immediately, but maybe they hadn't heard, hadn't been there.

“They took all my hair!” she wailed.

Cullen stopped, halfway across his office to her and just looked at her. Her hair was down, curled and loose. He liked the way it framed her face. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “I don't-”

“My legs! My arms!” Cullen felt heat rising to his cheeks. “It's all the rage, they claim, so unsightly for a woman to have,” she gasped dramatically, and changed the tone of her voice, mocking the Orlesian accent. “body hair.”

“So you're-” he glanced down to her arms, then her legs, she was wearing her usually leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, so he saw no difference.

“It hurt!” She exclaimed, pushing away from the door and meeting him in the middle of the room. “Hot wax and-” she sniffled. “Yank!” Namalya flung her arms around him. “Then they made me try on all these frilly dresses with corsets and I couldn't breathe!”

Cullen dutifully wrapped his arms around her, held her close. When Josephine had mentioned there were people coming from Val Royeaux to help, he hadn't imagined this, or that it would upset Namalya so much. “Leya,” he murmured, holding her tight. He couldn't help his curiosity though. He took hold of one of her hands, pressed a kiss to the back of it. Her skin smelled of some fancy oil, not her usual lotion that he'd grown accustomed to. “May I?” he asked, fingers stroking her wrist.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't say no, didn't pull away. He inched the sleeve of her shirt up, and indeed, her arm bore no hair. He could see the freckles more clearly, a mole he'd never noticed before. Cullen pressed his lips to her skin, like silk, he thought. “Let me distract you,” he murmured because he wanted to kiss every inch of her, find out if her legs felt as soft as her arms. “I'll worship you, make you forget about those terrible Orlesians.”

Namalya made a quiet sound and Cullen met her gaze, the heat had changed from her earlier distress to something softer. He led her around to his desk, shoved the papers he'd been addressing off to the side and sunk down into his chair. “What are you-”

“Just wait and see,” Cullen said, then he made quick work of the buttons of her top, he tossed it aside, and then stripped her of her breast band. He could still smell the Orlesian oil, wondered if they had rubbed it everywhere. He groaned quietly and nipped at one of her breasts.

“Oh,” Namalya breathed out quietly, her fingers tangling in his hair, mussing up the curls that he tried so hard to tame. Cullen kissed a trail down over her stomach, loosened the ties of her breaches and dragged them down her legs, he made quick work of her boots and then she sat there, on the edge of the desk, wearing only her smalls.

Maker, the woman was a wonder. He trailed his fingers up her calves, amazed by the feel of her skin. “So soft,” he whispered and then felt her tug at his hair. “But no, no you're right, it's horrible.”

He heard her snort out a quiet laugh and he grinned. “Why don't you lay back and I'll just,” his fingers caught the waistband of her smalls and her hands came down to rest on his.

“It wasn't just my arms and legs,” she whispered and Cullen felt his mind shut off. He stared at the cotton panties she wore and tried to fathom the idea of her being bare... there. He swallowed, hard.

He opened his mouth, closed it, tried to form words. “Will you let me?” it was a struggle to get them out. It took a moment, but then she released her grip on his hands and sat back on the edge of the desk as Cullen dragged them down her thighs. He kept his eyes on hers all the while, he slid his hands slowly up her legs, lifting her feet to sit on the armrests of his chair. He kissed her knee, her inner thigh and then finally let his gaze slide down.

It was strange, he thought, seeing her bare. Her skin a little pink from the abuse. “Maker's breath, Leya,” he choked out, then slowly ran the tip of his nose along her inner thigh until he reached her core. He stroked a fingertip along her outer lips, silky soft as well and he couldn't help but groan. Cullen wanted little more than to bury his face between her thighs, tongue her soft flesh and hear her scream his name in pleasure.

But he wanted to savor it too. He flicked his tongue out along the crease of her thigh, a sensitive spot for her, he knew. Her hips jerked her heard the slap of her hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her cry. “Even more sensitive, are you?” he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to her mound, just above her clit, while he let his fingers gingerly explore.

Namalya's other hand was curled around the edge of his desk, knuckles already white from her grip. He stroked his free hand over it and she released the table, caught his hand and laced their fingers together. “Cullen, please,” she begged, back arching, thighs falling wider.

He groaned and spread her with one hand before he covered her with his mouth. Cullen licked and sucked, exploring the flesh no longer covered in hair. Namalya growing louder and louder under his ministrations. He slid a hand down her leg, tugged it over his shoulder. Keeping her on the edge, not letting her fall over, was a delicate dance.

Namalya's hand had left her mouth and now tangled in Cullen's hair, her moans and cries barely contained. Only when he had her begging, pleading for release did Cullen finally withdraw. She didn't have a chance to complain, he stood up, tugged her off the desk and then spun her around and bent her over it, one hand stroked over her back, up into her hair while the other made quick work of the laces on his trousers.

Cock hard and aching, he fisted it, squeezed hard. Namalya's hands were stretched up over her head, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, her face turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her hair was tousled, cheeks flushed. Cullen leaned forward, brushed the head of his cock against her, they both groaned. She was so wet, he couldn't help himself and just rocked his hips a few times, taking in the sensation of slick flesh.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, over her tattoo, then licked along her spine before he thrust himself inside of her. Her back arched and Cullen slid his hands to her hips, held them tightly and drove into her. The desk was solid, thank the Maker, as he pounded into her. Her voice a quiet mantra reached his ears, “yes, yes, Cullen, oh yes,” over and over.

The sound of his armor rattling, the sound of flesh slapping flesh and his own harsh breaths were the only other sound in the room. Namalya started chanting his name, panting it as she tilted her pelvis, changing the angle. Cullen knew she was close, her body quaked beneath him as he leaned forward, slipped his hand down to stroke quick circles around her clit, pushing her over that edge finally.

“Cullen!” her voice echoed in the tower.

“Leya,” he groaned, losing his rhythm as he drove into her with the express need to follow her.

Breathing ragged, he barely supported his weight as he leaned over her, his breastplate pressing into her back. He cursed softly, peppering kisses over her shoulders, his cheek.

“I don't care how good that was...” she murmured drowsily, her hand slipping into his hair. “I want my hair back.”

Cullen chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Whatever makes you happy, my love,” he said, voice uneven.

After some time, he withdrew, set her on the edge of the desk and claimed he was helping her dress, though he was hindering more than anything, pressing kisses here and there. Stopping her to count freckles, to trace a section of her tattoo. She didn't complain. Namalya was utterly sated and imagined she didn't have the strength to walk down the stairs anyway.

Finally dressed, he kissed her tenderly and stroked his fingers along her jaw. “Will you survive the rest of the Orlesian torture?” he asked and she huffed.

“Unlikely,” she sighed, linking her arms around his shoulders. “You'll have to work twice as hard to distract me this evening,” she told him and heard him groan.

“Maker's breath,” he rasped, hands squeezing her hips. “You'll be the death of me,” he rasped, kissed her again before she relented and left him to his work.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Smut! 
> 
> Solas and Namalya have a civil conversation.

Namalya woke to the sound of Cullen's voice, quiet whispers, disjointed pleas. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him speak in his sleep, it was common. But she could hear the stress in his voice as she rolled to him. “Cullen,” she murmured softly. “Vhenan,” her voice was a quiet rasp. He jerked away from her touch, still trapped in his nightmare. “Cullen,” she said again, rearing up onto her knees. “Darling, wake up, please.”

She knew how distressing it was for him and it broke her heart. Namalya desperately wished there was something she could do, some way to chase off the terrible dreams. “No!” he yelled out, hand striking out, pain exploded in her face. “I will not listen to your lies!”

Namalya sat back hard, her hand flying up to touch her mouth. Her fingers came away wet with blood. Already she could feel her lip swelling. Tears stung her eyes at the pain and because she knew Cullen well enough to know he'd never forgive himself for the action. She wouldn't allow him to know, wouldn't allow him to blame himself for something he'd had no control over.

“Cullen,” she whispered, moving closer, she pressed her body against his, wrapped her arms around him. “You're safe, Vhenan. My vheraan, ma ane'eth'i em. I have you. Not them. You're safe,” she murmured quietly, resting her chin on the top of his head.

He flinched, she felt his whole body tense, and then he let out a quiet groan. “Ley?” he murmured, turned his face, brushed a kiss against her collarbone.

“You're safe,” she murmured, holding him tighter.

Cullen curled his arms around her waist, held her tight and within minutes she felt the tension melt out of him as he drifted back off to sleep. It wasn't always so easy. Most nights the nightmares woke him and he eventually would give up on sleep. She was grateful that wasn't one of those nights. Instead, she was the one who lay awake the rest of the night, soothing him whenever he made a sound.

Namalya watched the sky through the hole in the ceiling. As the stars began to fade she carefully disentangled herself from Cullen, dressed and keeping her head ducked down, she made her way to the tower across the stone walkway, in hopes that Solas was already awake.

Things had been tense with him since the aftermath of Haven, and her attempts to slice the mark from her hand. But she hoped he would help her, regardless. He was reclining on the small couch, a book in his hand when she stepped into the room. Solas' glanced at her, barely acknowledging her, but then his eyes were on her again, narrowing as he set aside the book and stood lithely. “What happened?” he asked, meeting her in the middle of the room. Gentle hands cupped her chin, tipping her face up so he could more clearly inspect the injury.

“It was an accident,” she said quietly, not wanting to explain the details.

“An accident? You sound as if you're-” He tugged her over to his desk and nudged her back to sit on the edge of it. “Protecting someone.”

Namalya felt her cheeks flame at the memory of Cullen doing a similar thing just the day before. She jerked away from the desk. “I can stand,” she told him.

Solas froze, stared at her for a second and then inclined his head. He reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a vial, set it on the edge of the desk and then tipped her head back again. “Who hit you, da'len?”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” she asked, deflecting the question. He gave her a look that clearly said he would if she'd not act like a child. “It was an accident, it doesn't matter who did it,” she told him and felt that odd sensation of healing magic. Warm, yet cool. Soothing and her eyes slipped shut.

“The Commander, I assume?”

Her eyes flew open and then she narrowed him. “Let it go,” she insisted.

“You'd defend the man who hit you?”

“Don't act as if you understand what happened,” she snapped at him and the healing magic was gone. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd leave her half-healed, her fingers strayed up to touch her mouth. Lip still was swollen, still split. Cullen couldn't find out. Tears burned her eyes. “Solas, please. He'll never forgive himself.”

“A lyrium induced rage?” he asked, picking up the vile.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “A nightmare. Solas, please, I beg of you-” He handed her the vile and she drank it quickly and felt Solas' fingers on her face again, when they fell away this time, she knew her face was healed. Namalya reached up, rubbed her fingers over her lip, she could feel the memory of the pain, but it was gone. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked him quietly. “Against the nightmares? I- it is just so exhausting. For him, I mean. I want to help him. I want to chase them all away, but I don't know how.”

Solas watched her, a curious expression on his face, then he shook his head slowly. “No, da'len,” he told her. “There is no cure for the nightmares that plague Cullen. I'm sorry.”

The words were a pang in her chest, she knew they were true. Nothing she could do, except be there for him, hold him, wake him, and never, ever let him find out that he'd struck her. “Thank you, Solas,” she said softly.

  
“You were up early,” Cullen murmured, brushing a kiss over her lips hours later in the war room as they awaited Josephine and Leliana to join them. “I missed kissing you awake,” he told her, ducking his head down to nuzzle her throat.

Namalya hummed softly, linking her arms around his shoulders. “I couldn't sleep,” she told him quietly, stroking the hair at the base of his skull.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing her jaw before he lifted his head to look at her. “I know my nightmares-”

“Hey,” she cupped his face and made him look at her. “No apologies.” She tugged his face down, kissed him. “It wasn't your fault, this whole ball and-” she broke off with a sigh and Cullen kissed her forehead. “I just know that it will be a disaster.”

The sound of the door opening had them drawing apart. There was still much work to be done before they left for Halamshiral.

  
It wasn't quite the disaster that Namalya had imagined it would be. They'd saved Empress Celene, thwarted Duchess Florian and somehow managed to blackmail everyone into working together. Namalya had no idea how long it would last, but she hoped long enough for them to help defeat Corypheus.

She was hiding now, not the least bit ashamed, a bottle of wine clutched in her hand. Namalya could still hear the music and she took a deep drink, then let her head rest against the stone wall and closed her eyes. She was so tired. Peering between the stone pillars she saw Cullen walking out onto the balcony. He looked around, frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. She watched his shoulders slump as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the stone ledge.

Namalya sat there for a while, just watching him. He looked as worn out as she felt. The last several nights had been mostly sleepless, between nightmares and the stress of the impending ball, neither one had gotten much rest. At least the ball was over, so to speak. Taking a deep pull from the wine bottle she then set it aside and let out a low appreciative whistle. Cullen's back stiffened and he whirled around and the frustration was evident on his face.

The poor man had been bombarded all night with unwelcome advances, yet he'd been so polite. His eyes scanned the doorway, looking for the source of the whistle. Just when she thought he wouldn't find her, his eyes settled on her and she saw the tension practically melt away. “Maker's breath,” he murmured, crossing the balcony to stand beside the balustrade where she sat hidden. “For a moment I thought I was about to be overtaken by those-those people.”

Cullen rested his elbows on the short wall between them and peered down at her. “I was going to ask you to dance,” he said. “But you look about as worn out as I feel.”

Reluctantly, Namalya pushed up to her feet. “I thought you didn't dance,” she said with a small smile.

“For you, I'd try.”

She hummed quietly. “How about we retire for the evening, who knows how long this party will go on. You can come sneak into my room.”

Cullen reached up, stroked her jaw and watched her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into the touch. “How about you come to mine,” he suggested.

“Mine's bigger,” her lips quirked up into a half smirk.

He leaned forward and nipped her lower lip with his teeth. “My lady,” he said as she grinned against his lips. “It isn't always about size,” he muttered.

Namalya giggled quietly, kissed him softly and then let out a little sigh. “Yes,” she murmured. “I'll come to your room.”

Wanting to be at least a little discrete, they went to their separate rooms, which Cullen was glad for, as it gave him the opportunity to set a few things up before Namalya joined him. A short while later, he heard the soft knock, then the door creaked open and she ducked inside. Her hair was loose, face washed clean of all the makeup they had insisted she wear.

“Well, Commander, here I am, what will you have of me?” she asked, slowly sauntering toward him.

Cullen watched the sway of her hips, the grace in which she moved and Maker, she was stunning. She wore a silky robe the color of red wine and a part of him just wanted to know what was underneath. But instead, he took her hand, kissed her softly and led her out to the balcony.

“Oh,” she said, her voice a quiet breath. “Cullen,” she murmured quietly.

“I've missed sitting under the stars with you,” he told her. He had set up blankets and pillows in one corner of the balcony, where the view of the sky wasn't blocked by trees. Cullen sat down, then tugged her down to rest between his legs, her back to his chest.

She let out a sigh and practically melted against his chest. “This is wonderful, Cullen. We've been so busy lately.” Her hands rested on his, fingers lacing together.

Yes, they slept together every night that she was in Skyhold. But they hadn't taken the time to just be. Cullen pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then rested his cheek against her hair. “I was worried about you tonight,” he admitted quietly. “I know how strong you are, how capable, and I admire that. But the game, it isn't the same as you walking into battle against demons.” Cullen sighed. “You know that you saw it. The point is-” he broke off, kissed her head. The point was, he was afraid he would lose her. “I was worried.”

“To be perfectly honest, so was I. I'm not cut out for the game. The constant betrayal. Never knowing when someone is going to stab you in the back.” She sighed, burrowed in deeper to his chest. Cullen dragged one of the blankets around her, shielding her from the cool breeze. “I can't wait to be back at Skyhold.”

They stayed like that for most of the night, talking quietly. Just like before, in Haven. Except that when Namalya's eyelids began to droop and she started to doze off, Cullen helped her to her feet, led her into the bedroom, and pulled her into his arms where she fell asleep almost immediately. He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes, hoping that exhaustion would be no match for the demons in his head tonight, that maybe the nightmares wouldn't come.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty angst

“Hawke,” his name was a broken whisper on Namalya's lips as they all stared down the demon. He flashed a crooked smile, but she saw the sadness in his eyes, it mirrored her own. Then he was gone and she and Alistair were running through the rift. Her knees cracked hard ground when she landed, her palms sliding on broken stones. Shoving up to her feet she turned to stare at the rift and for a long moment, she just stared at it. Hawke was still in there. Hawke would have no way out. He'd die. Wasn't there some other option? Couldn't they have figured out some other way?

She lifted her hand and closed the rift as a tear rolled down her cheek. Varric would never forgive her. “My lady,” Cullen was running toward her but she held a hand up, waving him off. She didn't notice the hurt in his eyes as she walked away. 

Alistair found her a while later, sitting on a crate in one of the battle-torn corners of the keep. “Why did you choose to leave Hawke behind?” he asked quietly, not understanding her reasoning. 

“Hawke was right, the Grey Wardens, they need a leader-” her voice cracked because while she did believe that was true, that wasn't the reason why she'd made the choice she did. “Cullen,” she told him quietly, then glanced over to Alistair and caught his bewildered expression. “During the blight, you and the Hero of Ferelden saved what was left of the Ferelden Circle, Cullen is alive because of you. I suppose this was my way of repaying you for that kindness.”

“Cullen?” Alistair murmured. When he'd arrived at Skyhold and had seen the Commander, he had remembered the man from all those years ago. The man who saw only one solution to deal with Mages. In a broken moment, Cullen had pleaded with Svara to kill him, but she had refused. Alistair had wondered for a long time if it had been the right choice. Still couldn't help but wonder. “Is what the demon said true?” he asked, tentative.

Namalya's jaw tightened. “It isn't what you think.”

“So he's never struck you before?” Alistair asked. He couldn't abide that sort of violence.

“You don't understand. He has nightmares. It was an accident and it would destroy him if he knew,” she looked at him and Alistair saw the tears shining in her eyes. “He stopped taking the Lyrium, it was killing him. He tries so hard, but the nightmares-” she broke off and Alistair understood nightmares.

He thought of those first months for Svara. Dwarves don't dream. To suddenly have dreams, and have them be such horrifying ones. After that first night, her initial shock, Alistair remembered explaining it to her. She'd played it off for a long time as if she was fine, and they didn't bother her. For a time, Alistair had wondered if maybe she was, Maker knew she was stronger than him.

Until he'd found her a short distance from camp, retching in the bushes by the lake they had camped near. She had scratch marks on her face and arms, he had wondered if she'd maybe fallen into one of the bramble bushes, but she'd admitted to doing it in her sleep. Trying to claw out the thoughts and the monsters. 

“If it weren't for Cullen,” Namalya continued. “I don't believe I'd be here,” she admitted. No, she likely would have fled and gone back to her Clan for good, and without having had the Inquisition's forces there, they would have all been killed. “He's my-” she broke off because there truly wasn't a word that encompassed what Cullen was to her any longer. 

Alistair smiled a little wryly. “I think I can understand that. Svara is the same for me.” 

“Where is she?” Namalya asked.

“Searching for a cure for the Blight.” Alistair rubbed his hand along his jaw. “Maker's breath I miss that woman. But once this is over, we'll be together again. Forever this time.” 

The love was so plain on his face and in his words it made Namalya's chest ache. “You love her.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I do. For some reason, she loves me too. She even agreed to marry me some years back.”

“If we all manage to live through this, I would very much like to meet her.” Hard footsteps on stone had them both looking up. Cullen was walking toward them and Namalya felt the ache in her chest grow. He wouldn't meet her gaze, he opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Alistair said, inclining his head toward them both before slipping away.

Namalya started to reach out to Cullen, noticed the blood on her hand and quickly snatched it back. She remembered falling back through the rift but had ignored the pain, now looking down at her hands she could see the blood and bits of gravel embedded in her skin. 

“Let me see,” Cullen said, coming to stand in front of her. He took her hands gently in his and looked over her palms.

“It's fine,” she insisted, tugging her hands free from his grasp. She could feel the tears burning the backs of her eyes and knew she was going to break. Any moment. Hawke is dead, and it is all your fault. What will Varric say? What about Bethany? Namalya thought of the mage Cullen had told her about. The sweet woman who had adored her older brother, who had endured so much, and now this? 

She thought she might be sick. It was her fault. All her fault. Namalya darted out of Cullen's reach and hurried down the rampart, ignoring Cullen's voice calling after her. She found her tent and quickly ducked inside.

Sinking down onto the ground, she drew her knees up to her chest. Most of her belongings were in Cullen's tent. Her tent had been put up for appearances only. Everyone knew that she and Cullen were sleeping together. Tears dripped down her cheeks and there was no stopping them, she didn't even bother to try. Hawke was gone and when Varric found out, he'd never forgive her, she knew that. The Wardens had been corrupted and so many were dead. But at least Alistair was there to help them. 

 

Cullen raked his hands through his hair. Namalya had run off, obviously wanting to be alone. He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she and her companions had vanished. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, had stood there and stared at that rift wondering if he would ever see her again. Then she had waved him off when she'd finally reappeared.

That had hurt. All Cullen had wanted to do was drag her into his arms and hold her, prove to himself that she was alive and real. Instead, he'd forced himself to finally take care of the things he'd ignored. Responded to his troops, thought Knight Captain Rylen had stepped in during his absence. He had waited, forced himself to eat something and then unable to resist any longer, Cullen had gone looking for her. Alistair was there, standing beside her, speaking quietly. He'd seen the ghost of a smile on her lips and had been relieved.

She had reached out to him for a split second, and then she shut down, and it took everything in him not to grab her, shake her, kiss her senseless. She pulled away, withdrew, wouldn't look at him and then she was gone again. The worry was a fist around his throat. What had happened? What had changed? Why wouldn't she just let him help?

“Have you seen the Inquisitor?” Cullen asked Rylen when he went to his tent and didn't find her there.

“No, Commander,” he said, shaking his head. “Not since she came back through the rift.”

Cullen cursed silently. Where could she have gone? He asked a handful of other people, but no one had seen her, including Alistair, who had given Cullen a hard look that he was afraid to try and interpret. Was she avoiding him? Had he done something wrong? Seeing her tent, that was put up, but hadn't been used, he headed for it. “My lady,” he spoke softly. “Namalya?” he tried again and there was no sound from inside. Carefully pulling back the flap he peered inside and spotted her, curled up on her side on the hard ground. 

He wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her, but it was apparent she didn't want that. She still wore her armour, tattered, bloodied and smeared with ichor. Her hands hadn't been cleaned up and bandaged. Cullen ran his hand through his hair, stepped away from the tent and headed for his. He couldn't just leave her like that. He gathered a few of the blankets and her pillow before going back to her tent. She hadn't moved, but he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest.

There were tear tracks down her cheeks, he could see clearly through the dirt. She'd been crying. He swallowed hard, hated himself because for some reason Leya hadn't wanted to come to him. Careful not to wake her, he lifted her head so that he could slip the pillow underneath it. Then he spread the blankets over her after unlacing her boots. Cullen watched her for a few moments and sent up a silent prayer to the Maker, that by morning she'd be willing to speak to him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much angst.
> 
> Namalya begins dealing with the consequences of her choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not quite what I had originally planned. Less angsty to be sure.

Cullen didn't sleep. He stripped, stretched out on the cot and stared at the ceiling of his tent. He missed the warmth and softness of Namalya's body beside him. He had been briefed on what had happened in the fade, knew that Hawke had stayed behind so that Namalya and Alistair could escape. But he knew there had to be more. Knowing there was still a good hour before the sun would rise, Cullen gave up on sleep, dressed and stepped out of his tent.

Only a handful of people were awake beside the lookouts. He gave the order that they would begin their trek back to Skyhold first thing, then he waited. Waited for Namalya to exit her tent, kept himself busy by packing up his own belongings. He fingered the glass jar that held the heads of several of the yellow flowers he'd given to her, sealed tightly with a cork, she took it with her every time she left Skyhold, ' _for luck_ ,' she'd told him with a kiss.

Once he had finished packing his things and hers, he carried their bags to where the horses were stabled and frowned. Namalya's horse, the hideous beast was nowhere to be seen. Cullen stared, certain he was just imagining things. He headed for her tent, tore back the flap and stared. The blankets and pillow lay on the floor, but Namalya was gone. He soon discovered that so were Solas, Dorian, Iron Bull and Alistair.

Namalya had sent a missive, he was informed, but the scout didn't know what it said, and then she and her companions had left. The look on the scouts face when Cullen had asked if there was a note for him had left him completely humiliated.

 

Namalya and her companions were mostly silent as they rode. She had lied initially about where they were headed. It hadn't taken long for them to figure that out and she finally relented, admitted to her destination they had tried to talk her out of it. Namalya had yelled at them, screamed and called them cowards. She hadn't been able to hold back the tears and she was ashamed of herself.

After begging for forgiveness, they had agreed, they would track down Bethany Hawke.

It didn't take as long as she'd thought it might. Some coin here, a promise from the Inquisition there, Iron Bull threatening to rip off someone's arm, and they had her. Namalya was terrified. But she had to do it. It was her responsibility. She owed it to Hawke, and to Bethany. “Stay here,” she ordered Solas, Dorian and Bull.

“Boss,” Bull said, not liking the idea, but Namalya didn't care.

“I said stay here,” she snapped before walking away. She found the house easily. It was modest, flower boxes in the windows. Drawing in a deep breath, Namalya lifted her hand and knocked. The anchor was concealed, she had wanted to be as inconspicuous as was possible, travelling with two mages and a Qunari.

The door opened, the woman smiled. Same dark brown hair. Same eyes. “Can I help you?” she asked, and then her brow furrowed as Namalya continued to stare, unable to get the words past the lump in her throat. “Are you alright?” Bethany asked cautiously, she glanced behind her and Namalya wondered if there was someone else there.

“Bethany Hawke?” Namalya finally managed to get out.

“Who is asking?” Bethany asked, spine-stiffening visibly.

“I'm sorry,” Namalya's voice broke and she felt the tears start to roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Creators, I'm so sorry. Hawke,” she covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm so sorry.”

Bethany just stared at her, then slowly she shook her head. “No,” it was a whisper. “No,” she said it again. “Where is my brother?” Namalya opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “What did you do to my brother!?”

“I never meant for any of this to happen, we were trapped and he volunteered to stay behind so that we could escape.” The details of where didn't matter. All that mattered was that she had sent Hawke to his death, and now Bethany knew.

“Garrett is dead?” Namalya nodded. “You... you let my brother die. He was- he was all the family I had left.”

Namalya landed hard on her back at the foot of the short staircase. She'd had magic used against her before in battle, but this was different. She wheezed and stared up at Bethany, saw the fury and heartbreak on the woman's face. Namalya wondered if Bethany would kill her. Fire built in her hands and Namalya just lay there, waiting, as tears continued to roll down her temples and into her hair. A fiery death at the hands of Hawke's sister was probably the least she deserved. Cullen had taken Bethany from Hawke, and now Namalya took Hawke from Bethany in a much more permanent way.

“Why couldn't it have been you? Why didn't you stay behind?” she demanded. “Hasn't my brother been through enough? Haven't I lost enough family?” Tears streamed down Bethany's cheeks and Namalya knew there was nothing that she could say or do to make it better.

Then the fire in Bethany's hands was gone and she just stood there, looking defeated. “You'd better just hope Fenris never finds you.” Then she went back inside the house, closing the door behind her. Namalya continued to lay there for several moments, trying to regain her breath before she pushed back up to her feet. _Fenris_ , maybe she _should_ find him.

Her back hurt and she couldn't straighten up quite all the way, but she wouldn't let Solas or Dorian near her when she met them back at the far end of town. “We should go back to Skyhold,” she said, struggling to mount her horse.

 

Cullen stood in his office, staring down at the papers, but he couldn't read the words. His head ached worse than it had in months. Sleep had been fleeting since returning to Skyhold. His sheets smelled of Namalya, the first few days he'd simply pressed his face into them. But then he'd realized the missive she had sent to Skyhold, to Leliana, had been a lie. She had said they were heading back to The Western Approach.

They had no idea where she, Solas, Dorian and Iron Bull had gone. Cullen felt like an absolute fool. He was worried for her, about her, but it was obvious she didn't care. Three weeks and a half weeks and they had heard nothing. Cullen had nearly burned the sheets on his bed but resigned to stripping them and having them washed. Then, while it had broken his heart to do it, he packed up Namalya's belongings and took them to her quarters, where he then gathered his own.

_It was foolish_ , he thought. Allowing himself to want her, to think he could actually have her. Angrily he tossed the papers on the desk and spotted the glass jar. The one with the flowers. _Foolish_. He picked it up, turned it, watched the way they tumbled inside. Dried and safe and her _luck_. He tightened his grip on it, then with a yell he threw it, hard. The glass shattered when it crashed into the stone wall, the flowers inside practically turning to dust with the force.

Cullen's lip curled as he stared at the mess on the floor. He didn't have the energy to deal with it. His shoulders sagged and he rubbed his hands over his face. He heard a tentative knock on the door. “Commander Cullen?” The door opened slowly and Jim peered inside.

“What?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Commander, the Inquisitor is back,” Jim said and Cullen glanced over at him.

“What?” he repeated, this time his tone was incredulous.

“Inquisitor Lavellan and her companions, Solas, Dorian and The Iron Bull, they are making their way up the final climb.”

“Get out,” Cullen growled and the man's eyes went wide before he quickly pulled the door shut. So she had come back? He thought about going out to meet her, demanding an explanation, but he just didn't have it in him. He walked over, flipped the lock on one door, then the next, and then the last before he slowly climbed the ladder.

Tugging off his armour he looked at the bed. Clean bedding that wouldn't smell of her. Nothing in the room was left that should remind him of her, yet it still did. He fell face first onto the bed, pressed his face into the pillow, inhaled, smelled the bitter tang of the harsh soap and nothing else.

 

Namalya rode her horse to the stable and then immediately headed for Cullen's office. She needed to talk to him. Guilt was eating away at her. She practically ran up the stairs and pushed the door, only to find it locked. “Cullen?” she called, rapping her fist against it. But there was no sound from inside. She spotted one of the scouts and jogged to him. “Where is the Commander?” she asked and he glanced back to Cullen's tower. Namalya shook her head. “The door is locked,” she said and the man looked sheepish.

“I spoke with him a short while ago,” he admitted. “Told him that you had been spotted and would be arriving soon.”

She just stared at the man, then slowly looked back to Cullen's door. “Oh,” she said. It was the least she deserved, wasn't it? “Thank you,” she said, then walked down the stairs and headed for Josephine's office. She spotted Varric in the main hall and stopped in front of him, he glanced up, raised an eyebrow. “I went and told Bethany,” she admitted quietly. “I... I owed her that.” She owed her so much more. She'd see that the woman would want for nothing, well, nothing other than her family alive and safe. “I'm sorry, Varric,” she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. The words were beginning to lose their meaning. She'd said them so often and knew she owed so many other people more apologies. But it would never be enough.

Josephine and Leliana berated her and Namalya stood there and listened, nodding and agreeing. When they were finally done, she went up to her quarters, to change and maybe rest for a few minutes. The box sitting on her desk gave her pause. She crossed the room and peered inside and felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. Things she'd known she'd left in Cullen's quarters. Glancing around, she noticed the little empty spots. His comb and pomade that had rested beside her brush and hand lotion, gone. His shirt that she'd often worn to bed that had been hanging over the footboard. Gone.

Her knees went weak and she sunk down to the floor, her hands limp in her lap. _It is for the best_ , she thought. She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. Namalya's jaw trembled and she felt the tears rolling down her face, but didn't bother trying to wipe them away. Why couldn't it have been her to stay behind? How many more people would she send to their death before this was all over? She wasn't going to live through this anyways. It would be better for everyone if she kept people at a distance from now on.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Namalya dealing with repercussions. Also, violence and some blood and *whispers* _angst._

“I'll head for Emprise de Lion, there have been reports of Red Templars there,” Namalya said, staring down at the map. The tension in the war room was palpable. When Cullen had entered the room, he granted her a curt 'Inquisitor' and nothing more. It was her own fault and she knew it. She'd pushed him away and then she'd run away. Had she really expected that he'd be waiting with open arms for her to come back?

The truth was, she just hadn't wanted him to see her break down. She hadn't wanted any witnesses to that. She was the Inquisitor. She didn't get to be weak, not when peoples lives were on the line. Cullen often told her how much he admired her strength. What would he think of her if he saw her weeping over the choices she had to make?

He would still care. He would have held her, soothed her.

“I'll have my scouts leave at once,” Leliana told her.

Namalya knew that the others were angry with her as well, Cassandra laid into her first thing that morning and Namalya had nothing to say. What she'd done was wrong, though she wouldn't change it, going to tell Bethany in person.

“Cullen,” Namalya said, as they began to file out of the room because she was afraid if she let him leave without speaking to him, he'd lock her out of his office again. He needed an explanation at the very least. He froze, his back to her, as Leliana and Josephine left, closing the door behind them.

“Commander,” he said and it took her a second. He didn't want her to call her Cullen. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked quickly.

“Very well. Commander,” she sighed. “I am sorry,” she told him. “I know that doesn't make up for my actions.”

“I'll assume you took care of whatever it is that was so important you felt the need to lie.”

He wouldn't even look at her. She rubbed her fingers over her temples and let her head fall back to stare up at the tall ceiling. “Yes,” she whispered.

“And when you leave for Emprise de Lion, is that actually where you will be?”

Cullen's tone was so harsh, Namalya felt her heart breaking. She knew she deserved it. But if he would just look at her, if she could just explain how much of a failure she was “Yes,” she whispered again.

“Good.”

Then he was gone. Namalya watched him walk out the door and continue down the hallway, away from her. Reaching up, she rubbed her hand absently over her sternum. She felt the hardness between her breasts, tugged on the chain and pulled the necklace from beneath her shirt. Cullen's coin. He had given it to her months ago, and she'd worn it wrapped securely in wire on a long chain where it wouldn't accidentally slip from her shirt in battle. Namalya supposed it wasn't hers to wear any longer.

That night, her bed was too big. It felt like it had been years since she'd slept alone in her bed. She tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up. Cullen had every right to be angry with her, she knew that, but it didn't change the fact that it hurt. She'd never felt for anyone what she did for Cullen. Namalya had no idea how she could make it up to him, to fix things, to get him to forgive her. She wanted it, desperately. She wanted Cullen to hold her, reassure her that things would be okay. Somehow, they would defeat Corypheus and- she broke off the thought.

And what? Live happily ever after? They had never spoken of a future together, beyond their first time together, when he'd told the Innkeepers they were married. Her heart ached for that time. Maybe things would have been different if she'd just told him no. But maybe not. Her fingers rubbed over Cullen's coin. She'd return it to him first thing in the morning, she told herself.

 

Namalya only waited three days before she, Solas, Dorian and Iron Bull left to follow the scouts to Emprise de Lion. Cullen made his way into his office, a part of him relieved that she was gone, and the other part gutted. She had not spoken to him since the morning after her return, in the War room. He was at the same time grateful and disappointed.

Several times he'd thought of seeking her out, but each time he talked himself out of it. His headache only seemed to be getting worse, when he would finally be able to doze off to sleep, the nightmares only grew more intense. He rubbed his hands over his face and wondered, how long until it broke him?

Collapsing into his chair with a heavy groan he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. _Maker's breath_. Five minutes of sleep and no nightmares were all he wanted, so of course, there was a knock on the door. He cursed. “What is it?” he barked, lifting his head. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and frowned at the glint of metal in the center of a pile of papers.

“Report, Commander,” the scout said as she came in.

Cullen didn't reply, he just kept staring at the necklace on his desk. It was the coin Branson had given him before he'd gone off to Templar training. For luck. The silly token that Cullen had kept.

“Commander?” the woman repeated and Cullen held his hand out.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, felt the press of the papers into his gloved hand. She left and he kept staring.

The coin he had given to Namalya. Because it had been his, and childish as it may have been, he wanted to believe it had brought him luck, he'd survived so far, hadn't he? So he had given it to Namalya, in hopes that that absurd belief would keep her safe as well when she went out to fight on nearly a daily basis. Because the thought of anything happening to her- Cullen rubbed his hand over his mouth as he reached out and picked it up.

She had the coin wrapped delicately in wire, so she could wear it on a chain, he'd liked the way it hung between her breasts, close to her heart. But now, she'd given it back. Cullen didn't want it back. It was hers to wear forever, to keep her safe, because Andraste preserve him, he loved her, with the entirety of his broken heart.

He shouldn't have pushed her away, a petty retaliation. He was angry that Namalya hadn't trusted him. Angry that she had run away without a word and he'd had no idea if she was okay or not. Hopefully, she would be able to deal with the red templars quickly and as soon as she returned to Skyhold, Cullen would try to put things right.

 

Red Templars, Namalya added them to her mental checklist of things she loathed. Along with bears, reanimated corpses and time travel. They had wiped out the camp, killed all the Templars and freed those who were going to be used to grow more red lyrium. The stuff was utterly terrifying. Namalya had wandered away from the others, just needing a moment.

A second to breathe. Trying to reconcile all the death. There were so many bodies. So much life wasted. Innocents, people from the village, Templars, like Cullen, who had just wanted to do good, or maybe they'd been born into it, given as a tithe to the church.

She looked up when she heard footsteps and froze. “Well, well, if it isn't the Herald of _Andraste_ ,” the words were a sneer, face twisted in disgust.

Namalya was at a loss for words. Elias. Stood just a few feet away and she could see the corruption. Tears stung her eyes. “Elias,” she whispered as she stared at the man she'd been so fond of not all that long ago. Red lines snaked up his throat and across the side of his face. “Why this?” she asked, voice breaking. “Why join them? Is it really better? Would you have the world end?”

“The Elder One has power you have no hope of competing against. You'll never defeat him. This way, I'm on the winning side.”

“Did he promise you things? Treasures, greatness?” She watched his lip curl into a sneer, and then he closed the distance between them. His fingers curled around her throat and he lifted her off her feet as if she weighed nothing. Then he flung her like a ragdoll. Her back slammed hard into a column of red lyrium, all the air left her lungs.

Red filled her vision. Blood? Had she hit her head? She must have, with the way things were spinning. But then she realized he'd picked her up again. “Oh, won't Corypheus be pleased to hear of your demise.” He slammed her against the rock wall and she thought she heard something break.

Namalya struggled to get up to her knees, but she couldn't put pressure on her right arm. _That must have been what I heard crack_ , she thought. She lifted her left hand and with all the energy she could muster, she sent a blast out from the mark.

Elias yelped and then she heard yells of her name coming from the camp farther down the path. His lip curled. “They won't be able to save you,” he said and pain exploded in her chest, knocking her backwards.

She lay there, gasping or trying to, but she couldn't even seem to do that. There were voices buzzing all around her, faces in and out of focus. “Da'len,” she heard and couldn't even rally up the energy to berate Solas for the nickname.

Namalya blinked and when her eyes opened she was in a tent. Solas was yelling, barking orders. Dorian was there. She felt magic all around her, her mouth tasted bitter. Pain. More pain. She began to cry. “Never told him,” she mumbled.

“Never told who what, da'len?” Solas asked she felt a hand on her head, gentle, soothing.

“Ma vheraan vhenan,” she wept. “Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

“You'll tell him,” he told her, with absolute certainty. She didn't believe him, but it was kind of him to say. He was yelling again, the words hurt her head so she let her eyes slip shut.

She'd never told him. Cullen would never know how much she loved him. That he was her Lionheart. Her heart.

 

Two days passed since they had found Namalya in a pool of blood in the snow not far from the camp. She had wandered off but they had believed they had wiped out all of the Templars. The lyrium spikes in her chest spoke otherwise. Solas rolled his shoulders and looked at Scout Harding, who was watching him with wide eyes.

They hadn't notified Skyhold of anything yet. Waiting. Magic had only been able to do so much, between himself and Dorian they were able to stop the lyrium from spreading, at least, they hoped. But they had needed more. Thankfully, there had been a surgeon in the town, she'd come and done her part. Knitting flesh back together with needle and threat. Setting the broken arm and wrapping it in a cast.

Solas wouldn't admit it, but he was concerned that she would die. A punctured lung, one of the shards just barely missed her heart. If she survived the blood loss, infection might very well take her. “Send word to Skyhold. There is a good chance that the Inquisitor will not live through this.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Cullen was just stepping into his office, after a lengthy run, when the other door opened, and Leliana stood there, looking harried. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“The Inquisitor has been injured,” she told him and held out the rolled parchment. They met in the middle of the room and Cullen yanked it from her hand. His eyes flew over the paper, the neat script he recognized as Scout Harding's. It spoke of the hard-won battle against the red Templars, the massive destruction and the Inquisitor had been injured. Badly. Solas, Dorian and a surgeon had done what they could. Lost a lot of blood. High risk of infection.

“Maker's breath,” it was a whisper, like broken glass in his throat. “I have to-” Namalya was hurt. She could have been killed. She still may-

“Go,” Leliana said. “I sent word a horse is already prepared.”

If Namalya died- _Maker, no. Please, no._ “Yes,” he said, “I-” but then he was moving again. He grabbed his cloak and the necklace, her necklace. She should have been wearing it. Why had he let his anger get the best of him? If she died- he cut off the thought again and was running out the other door and to the stables, where just as Leliana had said, a horse was waiting for him.

The days seemed never-ending as he raced to Emprise de Lion. Fear was a physical ache in his chest. She couldn't die. She just couldn't. It was late in the evening when he arrived. The sun sinking blood red in the sky. Cullen's stomach was in knots as he dismounted. He could see her tent, a soft light glowed from inside. A good sign, he prayed.

“Commander!” the first soldier to see him shouted in surprise. Cullen thrust the reigns into the man's hand and then he was running for Namalya's tent. Yanking back the canvas he froze. His knees felt like water and it was all he could do to stay upright.

“Commander,” Dorian said quietly, looking up. “Why don't you take a seat,” he offered, standing up from the chair he'd been sitting in.

But Cullen was afraid to move. Namalya was a mess. Her face was bruised and cut. Bandages were wrapped around her chest, clean, but fresh blood was seeping through. Her right arm was in a cast. “Maker,” he rasped, then finally crossed the room and collapsed into the chair, unable to take his eyes off her. Her face was flushed, with sweat on her brow. “She has a fever,” he said, already knowing. There was an infection.

“We are doing everything we can, Commander,” Dorian told him, then pressed the damp rag he'd obviously been using to cool her with before Cullen had come in. Dorian's hands curled around Cullen's for a moment, squeezed, and Cullen realized his hands were shaking. “She'll get through this,” he reassured her. “I'll leave you.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen called softly before he heard the swish of the canvas door. “Maker's breath. Leya,” his voice broke and he felt the tears roll down his cheeks. He had tried so hard not to think about the reality of it, but seeing her lying there, pale and ill, her breathing ragged, looking so fragile, it broke him.

He dipped the rag into the cool basin of water, rung it out and gently pressed it to her forehead. “Leya,” he murmured. “Leya, don't leave me, not like this. I should never have let you leave. I'm sorry love.”

Solas stepped into the tent sometime later, a vial in his hand. “This should help with the infection,” he told Cullen. “Maybe you could try giving it to her, we have all had difficulty.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, holding his hand out for the vial, Solas handed it over and then watched as Cullen sunk down to his knees beside the cot. “Leya,” he murmured softly, slipping one arm under her shoulders, his fingers curling around the back of her neck. “She's burning up,” he said and he didn't care that his voice cracked. The woman he loved could very well die.

“The tonic should help,” Solas reminded him.

“Right,” Cullen muttered, popped the cork with his thumb and then tilted her upper body, while he pressed the vial to her lips. “Drink this, Leya, please, love,” he said softly against her ear as he slowly tilted it. A bit trickled down her chin and he cursed softly. “Damn it, Leya, I'm not losing you. Drink it,” he demanded.

Cullen saw her eyes twitch behind her eyelids, then he sighed in relief as her lips responded. He continued to pour it slowly and watched her swallow the entire contents. With a sigh of relief, he let her lay back on the cot and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Thank you, love, thank you.” He didn't get up from where he knelt, stayed there, his hand gently stroking the back of her neck as he looked at her. “Tell me what happened,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Solas who stood with his hands behind his back.

“We believed we had killed all the Templars. We set up camp, hours had passed. The Inquisitor wandered away, a habit of hers, she likes to have her space after a battle. I heard her scream. Felt a ripple through the Fade, she'd used the anchor as a weapon. We found her and tracks that indicated someone ran, some of the soldiers tried to track this person but lost their trail.”

“How extensive were her injuries?”

“Commander, are you certain you want-”

“Tell me,” he ground out between his teeth.

“Lyrium spikes through her chest. One punctured a lung, another narrowly missed her heart. Broken ribs. Lacerations. The broken arm. Fractured vertebrae. The most severe were mended with magic and what potions we could pour down her throat when she was conscious. But as you can see, the arm, the bruises and cuts, we deemed less important.”

“Thank you,” he said, then once the other man left, Cullen brushed a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “Don't leave me like this, Leya,” he said softly, then shifting his weight, he took her hand in his, closed his eyes and began to pray. He prayed to the Maker, and then because they were her Gods, he prayed to Elgar'nan, to Mythal. He reached out and traced a finger along her vallaslin, tried to remember the name. Andruil.

Cullen bowed his head and continued to pray, because he could not bear the thought of losing her and he felt completely powerless, knowing there was nothing he could do. He remembered the necklace, the token of luck that she'd given back to him and reached into his pocket to pull it back out. “This is yours, Namalya,” told her, carefully looping the chain over her head, he let the coin rest on her chest over the bandage. “No matter what.”

There was very little change over the course of the next few days, she still burned hot with fever despite the tonic that Solas had him giving her every day, and Cullen felt restless. He'd barely slept and his head ached, but for once it had nothing to do with the nightmares or the withdrawal. He couldn't bring himself to sleep, could barely leave her side. Finally, Dorian burst in and ordered Cullen to sleep. Cullen had just raised an eyebrow.

“You're exhausted, Commander. You keeling over isn't going to help her in the least.” Iron Bull followed the other man, carrying a cot, he nudged Cullen and his chair out of the way and set it down beside Namalya's.

Cullen felt his cheeks begin to heat up, touched by the concern. “Thank you,” he said and the two men left again. Reluctantly, Cullen stretched out on the cot. They were right, he did need to sleep. He could already feel his mind hazing over at the edges. When she woke, because she would, Namalya would berate him for not sleeping. He reached out, curled his fingers around hers and let his eyes flutter shut.

 

There was a pressure on her chest, painful and crushing, but her mouth and throat were so dry she couldn't even cry out. Her eyes felt as if they had been sealed shut and the room she was in held the scent of medicine and spice and something else so familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint it. Namalya lay there, motionless, trying to remember. Red Templars. So many red Templars and so much of that damned red lyrium.

Elias.

The pain in her chest intensified and she remembered. He hadn't managed to kill her, had he? Breathing hurt, but she could feel her fingers and her toes, though her right arm ached fiercely and her left hand was numb. Finally, she managed to pry open her eyelids and blinked. She was in her tent and it was dimly lit from outside. Early morning, or was it late evening?

A quiet sound beside her had her turning her head and for a second she wasn't sure she was seeing things correctly. Tears filled her eyes. Cullen lay on a cot beside her, stretched out on his side, his hand holding her left hand so tightly it was no wonder her fingers were numb. The dark circles under his eyes told her that he'd not been sleeping and she wondered if the nightmares had been plaguing him.

Namalya didn't want to wake him, so she just lay there, her face turned to his, watching him sleep. Why had he come? Because he cared. Because he'd promised her that he was hers. He was her lionheart, after all. After a while, her eyelids grew heavy again and couldn't keep them open anymore. She woke again sometime later to the feel of lips on her knuckles. “I'll be right back, love,” Cullen's voice was a rasp, and then she heard a shuffle of movement, canvas shifting.

Her entire body ached and she wanted nothing more than to move her sore muscles. She tried, but the pain that engulfed her left tears in her eyes. “Shit,” she rasped out around her tongue that tasted like she'd been licking iron. Namalya didn't know how much time passed before she heard the tent flaps again, Cullen's voice and Solas'?

“I think the fever finally broke,” Cullen said, voice low.

“It would appear so,” Solas said, meeting her gaze. “Welcome back, da'len.”

She watched Cullen's face, his furrowed brow, then he jerked his head to look at her, and his face positively lit up. “Leya,” he choked out and dropped to his knees beside the cot. She felt one of his hands in her hair, the other curled around her left hand. “You're awake, Maker's breath, you're finally awake.” She saw the tears in his eyes and her own eyes filled as well. Cullen pressed his forehead against hers and she could hear each shuddering breath. “Thank the Gods,” he croaked.

“How are you feeling, da'len?” Solas asked.

“Need water,” she choked out.

“I will fetch you some and give the two of you a moment.”

Namalya wanted nothing more than to crawl into Cullen's lap and wrap her arms around him, but since she couldn't move, she would settle for squeezing his hand as tightly as she could.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sappy sappiness and arguing. Mostly sap.

Cullen hadn't stopped touching her. Solas returned with water, looked her over, checked her injuries and left again. Now she was lying propped up with pillows at her back, sipping tea that had the bitter aftertaste of healing herbs. Cullen was sitting in the chair he'd replaced the extra cot with and his hand was resting on the pillows, fingers barely touching the back of her neck.

Namalya had noticed the necklace, resting on her chest. He hadn't spoken since those first words when he'd realized she was awake and she had only answered Solas' questions. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn't know where to begin. Staring down into the depths of her cup she tried to sort through the cotton fluff that was in her head. It ached. Everything ached. Elias nearly had killed her. Elias.

Another thing that was her fault. If she'd been honest, would it have changed things? Would he have still gotten angry if she'd told him in the beginning? Would he have still left to join the Templars? Would he still be corrupted?

“Does something hurt?” Cullen asked softly, fingers gently wiping the tears she hadn't realized she was crying from her cheeks.

“Everything,” she admitted with a bitter laugh that made it all hurt worse. “Elias,” she said turning her face to look at him.

Cullen looked startled. She noticed that his cheeks looked sunken, she didn't think he'd been eating. She had missed him so much, her soul ached, and all she wanted was to crawl into his arms and stay there. Namalya held her mug out to him. “No, you need to finish it,” he insisted, pressing it back into her hand.

“No, I can't, just-” she pushed it back. “I can't. Please, Cul,” her voice broke and she closed her eyes. He hadn't wanted her to call him Cullen. Him being here didn't mean he forgave her. “Commander.”

“Leya,” he breathed her name, took the cup and Namalya watched him rest his elbows on his knees, no longer touching her. That wasn't what she'd wanted and more tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Elias, why did you mention him?”

She reached up and touched the edge of the bandage that wrapped around her chest. “He joined the Red Templars, he's corrupted. He was...”

“Elias is responsible for this?” Cullen stood up, began pacing the length of the tent.

“It was my fault. All of this. Every damn thing is my fault.” Namalya curled her fingers around the coin and squeezed. “Why am I wearing this?”

“It's yours,” he said simply. “Explain how everything is your fault.”

“It was my decision to leave Hawke behind. Then I felt terrible because it shouldn't be up to me, he was innocent, he'd done nothing to deserve being left behind in the Fade to die. I had to tell Bethany, because-”

“Wait a minute,” Cullen cut her off. “That is where you went? You went and found Bethany? Maker's breath!” he yelled and she looked up, startled. She hadn't meant to tell him that. She'd known he wouldn't approve, and maybe that was part of why she hadn't said anything before she left.

Namalya shook her head. “What would you have had me do? Written her a letter of condolence that I was the reason she has no living relatives anymore?! I owed it to her! To Hawke! To go and be the one to tell her,” she yelled back, ignoring the pain the speared through her chest.

“You could have been hurt! She could have-” he broke off and ran his hands over his face. “Namalya,” he sighed. “What happened when you went to see her?”

“She knocked me down the front steps and then told me to be sure I never met Fenris.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Obviously you didn't go seek him out as well, or else I know you'd never have made it back to Skyhold.” He heaved a breath and rubbed his hands over the back of his neck as he walked over to collapse back into the chair beside her cot. “Tell me what happened with Elias, please.”

“He doesn't think the Inquisition can win against Corypheus. That was why he said he chose to become a red templar. But it's my fault. If I hadn't lied to him, if I'd told him the truth in the very beginning, I don't think this would have happened.”

If she had told Elias the truth from the beginning, they very well could have still been together. It was a discomforting reality as Cullen sat there staring at his hands. It didn't change the fact that Cullen very much wanted to find Elias and kill him, slowly and painfully. He had nearly killed Namalya.

Cullen knew that if she died, something inside him would be broken and there would be no hope of ever fixing it. He blinked when Namalya held her first out over his hands, on reflex he turned his hands up and cursed softly when she dropped the necklace into his hands. “Damn it, Leya, I said this was yours.”

“Branson gave it to you, I won't wear it, not when-” her breath hitched. “Ma vheraan vhenan, that is what you are to me.” Cullen looked up, she was staring straight ahead, but he could see the tears still rolling down her cheeks. “My Lionheart. My heart. You have every right to be angry with me. I should have told you, I should have just,” she wiped at her cheeks and shook her head.

Pushing up to his feet, he saw Namalya close her eyes, and wondered if she was expecting him to leave? He looped the necklace over her head again and as he sunk down on the edge of the cot he kept his fingers on the coin, then carefully laid it against her chest. “I gave you this as a token of luck and look what happens when you take it off?” he cupped her cheek and wiped away her tears. “Seems to me, that you not wearing it is a bad idea.”

“It had nothing to do with the necklace,” she mumbled, leaning her cheek into his palm.

“You don't know that,” he told her, then reached up and held her face between his hands. “I want you to wear that coin forever, Namalya. I-” he blew out a breath. “I was angry, and I'm sorry. You pushed me away and then you were gone and no one knew where you were. I was terrified and hurt that you didn't trust me. You're right, I would have had something to say about you going to meet Bethany alone to tell her about Hawke. I would have insisted you let me join you. I caused her my fair share of heartache as well.”

Her jaw trembled and Cullen brushed his thumb along her lower lip. He leaned in close, rested his forehead against hers and just breathed for a moment. She was alive. She would be fine. “I don't think I have ever been so scared as I was when I read that you'd been hurt. All I could think was that I loved you and I never told you.”

Namalya's eyes flew open and she flinched backwards, staring up at Cullen in shock. “You-”

“I love you. I am in love with you. I have been, practically since day one,” he admitted, felt his cheeks burn hot. “The day you taunted Cassandra and then came and started harassing me, asked if I had pledged myself to a life of celibacy. It was the way you laughed, that spark in your eye.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she reached up, covering his hands with her own. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. I love you,” she said, sniffling quietly.

“Thank the Maker, and the Gods, and,” Namalya cut off his words with a kiss, soft and sweet and salty with tears.

“Hold me, please?” she mumbled against his mouth. “Please, I have missed having your arms around me.” Cullen kissed her again, and then after careful rearranging, Cullen held her against his chest, his lips against the crown of her head.

 


	26. Chapter 26

It was several more days before Namalya had the energy to get out of bed for more than just a few moments. Cullen had barely left her side. “Once you're well enough to travel, we should return to Skyhold so you can continue healing,” he told her while he gently massaged the healing salve into the red ringed scars on her chest.

“No,” she told him, with a shake of her head.

“Leya,” he groaned. “You need more time to rest. You were nearly killed. You've already done everything you can here, we'll continue to monitor the situation, troops and scouts will remain to help the people.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Cullen looked up and met her gaze and he could see the tears shining in her eyes. “Love,” he breathed. “You've done everything-”

“He's still out there, Cullen. Elias is out there somewhere. I can't just-” her breath hitched and Cullen wiped his fingers on a rag before sliding his fingers into her hair to cup the back of her head. “He's corrupted. It is my fault-”

He gripped her chin, made her look at him. “This is not your fault. Elias made the decision to join them.”

“Because I-”

“Damn it,” he kissed her, hard, cutting off further words. She kissed him back, but he could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Would you change it? If you could go back, tell him the truth from the beginning, would you?”

“Yes,” she told him.

“If you did that, it would change this, us.”

Namalya didn't miss the hurt on his face as he stood up and returned the salve to the pack with the healing supplies. “No, it wouldn't,” she told him. She pulled her shirt on, wincing slightly at the tug of freshly knitted flesh. She still had stitches holding her together. His back was to her, but she didn't miss his quiet snort of disbelief. Crossing the tent, the ground cold against her bare feet, she slipped her arms around his waist from behind and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. He wore only a thin tunic, and she could feel the warmth emanating from him.

“It wouldn't change,” she continued, “anything between us. I love you, Commander. I knew from the beginning that Elias was a fling, it wasn't going to go anywhere.” Cullen's body relaxed infinitesimally and she pressed her lips to the center of his back. “I had planned to break it off with Elias for a while, and I know I went about it badly. You were already my best friend. Nothing would have changed that. My Lionheart, always there for me, always at my side.” Cullen's hand closed over hers and she heard him sigh.

“You're so certain?” he asked.

Namalya released him, tugged him around to face her. “Positive,” she murmured and tugged his face down to hers.

The kiss was slow and sweet. Cullen's hands slid down over her hips and he lifted her up easily, letting her legs curl around his waist. He held her there as he kissed her. “You aren't going after him alone,” he said when they finally broke apart. “Don't argue with me on this,” he said, but she just smiled a little and stroked her thumb over his jaw. “I will be with you when you go up against him, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Commander,” she murmured.

“Why are you being so agreeable?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“I nearly lost you because I was so insistent on dealing with things myself. I'm not about to do that again,” she told him.

Cullen's gaze softened. “Leya,” he murmured. “Maker's breath, you are-” he broke off, kissed her, afraid to hold her too tight. He missed her, wanted her, needed to feel her come apart in his arms.

Her thighs tightened around his waist and she rolled her hips against his. “Take me to bed, Commander,” she murmured against his mouth.

“You're still healing, I shouldn't-”

“I'll tell you if it hurts, please, Cullen.” Namalya slid her fingers into his hair and brushed her lips along his jaw until she reached his ear. “Isalan ma gara suin,” she murmured and gently tugged at his earlobe with her teeth. Cullen could deny her nothing. They made quick work of their clothing as Cullen carried her back over to the cot. He set her down, stripped off her leggings and smalls. Her hand clamped over her mouth as he pressed his tongue against her core.

His cock ached and Cullen wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside of her and stay there until the end of time. He knew he wouldn't last, could feel the desperation running through his veins as he used his tongue and fingers to bring Namalya to the edge. Once she was there, he reared up over her, and with one solid push, he drove himself into the hilt. Her breath caught, nails digging into his shoulders as she murmured his name again and again.

Cullen's fingers dug into her hip, adjusted the angle just slightly, and watched Namalya's back bow as she came, shouting his name. Pride welled up inside of him and he groaned, pressing his lips against her chest, over her heart and near the scar as he bucked his hips against hers, coming hard. He pulsed inside of her and held her close, not willing to lose the feeling of her inner walls fluttering around him. “Okay?” he asked her, voice rasping slightly.

She hummed, her fingers slipping into his hair. “Never better, vhenan.” He kissed her chest again and closed his eyes, so grateful he hadn't lost her.

They lay there for a long time, Cullen shifting so that Namalya lay over his chest, while he traced his fingers up and down her spine. “Please, return to Skyhold, so that you can fully heal. I'll make sure that they keep an eye out for Elias, and do not engage with him.”

“Okay,” she murmured, her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You're right, I know. I'm just-” she sighed. “I don't want him to hurt anyone else.”

“You're no good against him as you are right now,” Cullen murmured. “When we go up against him, you need to be at full strength. Because if he hurts you again...” Cullen trailed off.

“He'll never get the chance,” she told him, lifting her head up.

“I hope you're right,” Cullen sighed, squeezing her just a little tighter.


End file.
